No Solution
by Ace Bullets
Summary: In what will become a hostage-taking with no acceptable solution, some may wonder if Jules will always be the one to pay the price for another's actions. Sam/Jules if you squint. Season Two continuity Team One fic, with some familiar faces.
1. Chapter 1

**No Solution**

**THURSDAY  
**

It was a warm Thursday afternoon. The day had thus far been spent "keeping the peace", as Team One Sergeant and head negotiator, Gregory Parker, would say, without any major incidents.

At the sudden sound of the emergency siren blaring, the seven-member team sprang into action.

Dispatcher, Winnie Camden, calmly and clearly announced the call, but felt the flush of excitement nevertheless. Even though she would remain at headquarters, providing information to Greg as it was needed, she was an integral part of the Strategic Response Unit's operations.

"_Team One! Hot Call!_" Her voice resounded in tandem with the _vreep-vreep_ shriek of the klaxon. "Reports of a suspicious package, possibly a bomb, planted on a streetcar stopped at Spadina and Queen."

Ed Lane, head sniper and team leader, approached Winnie's desk. "Who called it in?" he asked.

"Call came from an operator with the TTC," she replied. "Says a passenger on the 510 line boarded at Dundas, carrying a backpack. Disembarked at Queen _without_ the pack, but dropped a note. When the operator read it, it said: 'Bomb'."

"Real creative," Ed observed sourly. "Just one word, and you've got instant panic."

Remaining team members, Greg, Jules Callaghan, Kevin 'Wordy' Wordsworth, Lewis 'Lou' Young, Mike 'Spike' Scarlatti and Sam Braddock, had assembled to hear the preliminary information.

"We get a description of the guy?" Greg asked.

"The operator described a young Hispanic male about twenty," Winnie answered. "White T-shirt, black bandana, shades, dark jeans... that's all we got."

"Not much to go on," Wordy said with a frown, as they moved to deploy.

The seven got rolling towards their destination, keeping in contact with Winnie along the way as the situation developed.

Already they knew first responders to the scene of the possible incendiary package had the area cordoned off, passengers of the streetcar evacuated, as well staff and patrons of nearby shops and businesses. The traffic commission had halted the 510 line, and was implementing their own contingency plan to accommodate their inconvenienced riders.

Upon arrival, Greg hopped out of the team tactical truck and approached a pair of uniformed officers who had been first on the scene. He identified himself, and asked to speak with the streetcar operator. They pointed out a man wearing a transit uniform who was standing behind a barrier.

"Name's Alvin Snyder," one of the officers said. "He's really spooked, but he's been helpful. Did everything right by getting his passengers off quickly and calling in the threat."

"Thanks," Greg said, and hurried over to Alvin, who looked to be in his late forties with a balding head of red hair, and a very freckled face.

Ed, Sam, Wordy and Jules exited their Chevy Suburban trucks and stood by, awaiting instructions from Greg. Spike and Lou remained inside the tactical truck, which also doubled as a mobile command post, monitoring any further chatter or possible reports of their on the lam suspect.

"Mr. Snyder, I'm Sergeant Greg Parker; I'm with the Strategic Response Unit. I hear you did a really good job earlier keeping your passengers safe."

Alvin nodded. He seemed to be coming to terms with the potential severity of the situation. "Yeah, I just did what I thought was right. It's all just so surreal, you know? At first I thought it was some kind of joke when I read the note, but then I saw that the guy had left the backpack on the seat..."

"Where, exactly, did this guy leave it?" Greg asked.

Alvin swallowed nervously. "About the fourth seat back. Right side."

"Did anyone else touch it or look inside it?"

The streetcar operator shook his head. "No way. I just told everybody in the car that we were stopping due to an emergency, and to exit immediately. I sure wasn't gonna touch it. I didn't want to risk getting myself blown up."

"Thank you, Mr. Snyder. I just want to confirm the description we got of this guy: Hispanic male, approximately twenty years old, dark sunglasses, white tee, dark jeans, and a black bandana on his head?"

"Yeah, that's right," Alvin answered.

"Anything else you remember about him? Any logos or tattoos? Scars, that kind of thing?"

"Well, he might've had some tattoos on his arms and stuff, but I can't be positive. I wasn't really paying attention to him. It was really the note that got my attention."

"Thanks for all your information," Greg said. "Please remain behind the barrier. If you can remember anything else about that passenger, please let one of us know immediately. Okay?"

"Okay," Alvin replied.

Greg returned to his waiting team.

"So what's the plan?" Ed asked.

"Well, the operator says the backpack is sitting on the fourth seat on the right hand side, but no one knows for sure if it's a bomb yet."

"Aw, Spike's going to be so choked that 'Babycakes' can't board the streetcar to confirm," Jules joked, eliciting a few chuckles from Sam and Wordy. She was referring to Spike's pet name for the anti-explosives robot he doted on.

"I heard that," Spike shot back from his spot inside the truck.

"That's because I wanted you to hear it," Jules replied.

Greg turned to Ed. "So what do you think? This case remind you of anything?"

"You mean like when we were dealing with Danny Rangford's ruse with the suitcase last year?" Ed replied.

"Yeah. Suspicious package left behind, targeting a transportation hub...only this time it's definitely not a retired SRU Sergeant that's responsible."

"Right," Ed concurred. "This sort of M.O. speaks to an individual who's organized and mentally competent, but emotionally detached."

"Why leave a note?" Sam asked.

"Maybe this guy wants publicity," Wordy suggested.

"Could he be watching?" Jules asked, indicating the crowds of people that were gathering down the block, choking pedestrian traffic on the sidewalks. They even spotted a couple news cameras.

"Okay, we really need to get those people further back," Greg said, echoing everyone's thoughts for the safety of the on-lookers. Keeping them far clear of the heavy plastic barriers that had been set up was one of his main concerns. He sent Jules and Sam off to force the people to retreat.

"Boss, I've been thinking," Spike's voice carried over their headsets.

"Go ahead," Greg said.

"If we could find out how wide those streetcar doors are, we might be able to get Babycakes up on a makeshift ramp, and in to get a look at that backpack. If people can get baby carriages up on those things, it might be a tight fit, but I think I can get Babycakes up and in there, too."

"Sounds good, Spike," Greg said. "But first, I want eyes in. I want to be able to see this thing before we start poking around."

"Sure thing, Boss," Spike replied, and immediately moved for the hand-held, fibre-optic unit with the flexible camera scope.

Sam and Jules returned from assisting with the crowd control just as Spike was stepping out of the back of the truck.

"It never ceases to amaze me how nuts people get when something like this happens," Jules said with a shake of her head. "Everyone out there with their cell phones and camera phones... in ten minutes this whole thing will be all over _YouTube_."

A moment later, a flash of light accompanied by a loud _pop_ brought cries of surprise from the very crowd Jules had just been critical of.

The interior of the streetcar was filling with smoke. The explosive device had detonated.

"Whoa," Spike said under his breath. "I guess we're not going to need eyes in _or_ Babycakes after all."

* * *

At the conclusion of the debriefing of the incident, Greg and Ed remained seated at the conference table.

"Something's bothering you," Ed said quietly to his friend.

Greg pouted. He ran a nervous hand over the back of his head. "Yeah... It was too easy. The whole thing was too easy. Why go through all the trouble of leaving an explosive device on a streetcar if it's just going to be a dud?"

"Think this was some kind of test or dry-run by terrorists to see what kind of response it would get?" Ed asked.

Greg shook his head. "There's been no up-tick in terrorist chatter in recent weeks. And it doesn't fit the profile. Hispanic male? Note-dropping?"

"So what, then?"

Greg sighed. "I don't know. But I don't like having my chain yanked."

"Then let's hope we find this guy before he graduates to more highly-explosive ingredients," Ed commented, and stood up to leave.

Greg remained seated for long minutes after Ed departed, wondering what to do about the worry gnawing at his insides.

* * *

**4 DAYS AGO**

Reynaldo Villalobos stared at the face opposite him through the plexi-glass partition. It was not an unpleasant face; one that might even be considered pretty, if not for the coldness of the eyes, and the hard line of the mouth, seemingly set in a permanent frown. He picked up the receiver on his side, and waited for his visitor to do the same before he started talking.

In Spanish, they rapidly shared information, being careful not to reveal anything that would be construed as dangerous or threatening by those who would surely be monitoring the exchange.

A plan was secretly hatched and set in motion.

Reynaldo watched the retreating figure of his visitor. He'd met many scary people in his line of business, but _she_ was by far the most frightening, and he'd do anything to remain in her good graces.

As he was escorted back to his drab cell, Reynaldo took comfort in the knowledge that bail money would soon be on the way, and with it, his freedom, if only temporary.

The pricey lawyer their organization kept on retainer and the bleeding-heart judge that presided over his hearing ensured that bail wouldn't be revoked for him, given his limited role in a daring abduction scheme the previous month.

Reynaldo smirked. _Too late to change your minds now_, he thought, _and too late for that bitch cop that killed El Jefe..._

* * *

**FRIDAY**

Jules Callaghan rose early on Friday and did a few stretches in front of her bedroom mirror. She ignored the twinge of pain that greeted her when rotating her shoulder. She knew she should be grateful she was even alive after a sniper's bullet had torn through her Kevlar vest and nearly killed her several months ago.

After weeks spent in a hospital and endless hours of physiotherapy, Jules had recently reclaimed her position on Team One.

She was proud that her body had responded to the rigorous regimen she'd planned with her therapists, and that she was once again in peak condition. This morning was going to be just another step towards maintaining that level of fitness.

While the team members were expected to put in mandatory work-out time in the facilities housed at SRU headquarters, Jules still enjoyed a good outdoor run, especially after being cooped up in a stuffy hospital room for so long.

Jules donned a jogging outfit and tied her running shoes. She slipped her mp3 player into one of the pockets and inserted the ear buds. She locked her door behind her and set off for her run. Most of the neighbourhood was still asleep at this hour, and she was happy for the solitude.

Her feet followed a path towards a park that was frequented by other joggers and dog-walkers. This morning, she hadn't yet crossed paths with anyone. Thirty minutes into her run, Jules reversed her course, intending only to run for an hour this time out. Her breath came in steady, strong intervals, and her heart pounded in her chest.

Up ahead of her, Jules noticed four men, all dressed in dark clothing that didn't look like exercise apparel. They were heading in her direction, but didn't appear to be in any great hurry.

_Wonder what they're up to_, Jules thought.

As she got closer, she could make out that they all seemed to be in their late twenties to early thirties, Hispanic, and tough-looking.

Her cop instincts started buzzing. _Something's not quite right about those guys,_ she mused. She tried to ignore her growing discomfort as each step brought her closer and closer to them. Jules could see that they had noticed her, and were actually keenly observing her.

She was near enough now to hear their rude cat-calls, even through the music playing through her earphones.

_Just a bunch of juvenile pigs, _she thought with disgust.

"_Hey, chica!_" one hollered.

"_Chica, chica, chica!_" They chanted.

Jules felt her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She didn't realise she'd been holding her breath until she'd finally run past them, and expelled a lungful of air in relief.

But the relief was short-lived. Jules yanked her headphones out of her ears to confirm that she was hearing several footfalls behind her in hot pursuit.

The four men were bearing down on her, faces stretched with wide, cruel grins.

Jules poured on the power, hoping to outrace them, maybe get back to the main street and alert a passer-by, or get to a neighbour's house.

She'd been trained in close-quarter, hand-to-hand combat, but she wasn't in the mood to take on four targets at once.

"_Why run, chica? You will not escape us,_" one of the four threw this taunt.

Jules dared not waste precious seconds turning to see how much distance she'd put between her and her pursuers, but she sensed they were very close.

She heard a yell, and felt a body slam solidly into hers. She tumbled to the ground, a mass of limbs tangling as they rolled on the grass and soil. Jules struck out blindly; felt her fist connect with flesh and cartilage. A cry of pain from her attacker instantly followed.

Rough hands grabbed at her, forcing her to her feet. A meaty arm locked under her chin, choking off her air supply. She jabbed her elbow behind her and found the ribs of the man restraining her. A loud curse was uttered, and the pressure on her throat abated. Jules drew in a quick breath, tried to take stock of her situation, and assumed a judo stance.

One of the four was doubled over, hands covering a bloody face. He was being tended to by a second man.

"She broke my nose, man!" he howled.

A third man was timidly circling, trying to best determine another way to attack.

The sound of a gun being cocked behind her made Jules freeze. Goon number four may have sore ribs, but now that he was holding a gun, Jules knew the whole situation had changed for the worse.

"Stupid cop," he spat, nudging the back of her neck with the barrel of the pistol.

_Oh, my God_, Jules thought in a panic. _How do they know I'm a police officer?_ The coldness of the weapon against her exposed skin made her want to scream.

"You are going to come with us," the armed attacker whispered harshly. "You will not scream, and you will not struggle. You do, and your _policia_ friends will never find your body. _Comprende?_"

Jules nodded, but wondered to herself: _What do these guys want with me?_

It was her last thought before she felt a sharp pain in the back of her head, and then everything went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

"_Team One, suit up! Hot call!_"

As soon as he heard those words, Sam felt an instant adrenalin spike. He loved his job, even if his current choice in profession put a strain on his relationship with his father. Contrary to what the senior Braddock might think, Sam was fully confident he was where he was supposed to be, and that he was indeed making a difference in the world.

He paused to listen to the rest of Winnie's announcement.

"Report of a suspicious package left in the lobby at Union Station, possibly a bomb."

Greg and Ed looked at each other. The same worry that had been occupying his thoughts the previous day returned to Greg in full force.

"I don't like it, Eddie," Greg muttered.

"Neither do I," Ed admitted. "You thinking this might be a copy-cat, or the real deal?"

"We won't know for sure 'til we get there," Greg said, as the pair grabbed their gear in preparation for deployment.

Wordy, Sam, Spike and Lou were doing the same. Fully decked out in their vests, communications devices and weapons, Team One assembled to depart in their assigned vehicles.

"We know anything more about this suspicious package?" Greg asked Winnie.

"Yeah, Sarge. An anonymous caller told a TTC customer service rep that there was a bomb somewhere in the station lobby, and that it was inside a black backpack. Station security personnel actually took things from there and combed the lobby. They spotted an abandoned pack and that's when they called it in."

"Thanks, Winnie," Greg said, hoping that first-responders were going to be able to make their job easier by emptying the busy station. He knew it would be no easy task, given that Union was a major point of departure and arrival for everything from trains to buses and subway lines. And after yesterday's relatively minor incident involving the smoke bomb on the streetcar, the citizens of this fair city were bound to be on edge.

"Anybody seen Jules?" Greg called out, suddenly noticing that the young woman was absent.

The other members took a quick glance around and shook their heads.

"Sam, have you seen her this morning?" Greg asked the younger man.

Sam looked a little irritated that he was being singled out. "Why are you asking me?"

"I just thought that..." Greg trailed off. "Never mind. Forget I asked."

Ed cued his communicator to contact Winnie. "Have you got a location for Constable Callaghan?" he asked the dispatcher.

"Negative on that one," Winnie answered. "I haven't seen her today, period."

"It's not like her to be late like this," Ed murmured. "If she's stuck in traffic, or something, she would have let one of us know."

Greg gave a curt nod in agreement. "Winnie," he spoke into his mouthpiece, "would you please give Constable Callaghan a call at her home? If she doesn't answer, try her cell."

"Copy that," Winnie replied, and set about dialling Jules' home line.

"Okay, we don't have the time to sit around to wait for Jules," Greg said to the rest of the team. "We move out now and deal with it later."

He got nods of affirmation from the other five, and they moved for the trucks.

En route to Union Station, Greg got the response from Winnie that Jules was not answering her home line, or her cell phone.

"Keep trying, Winnie," Greg advised her, trying to stifle the notion that something was terribly amiss. Jules was healthy, he reminded himself. She'd fully healed from her injury and was fit for reinstatement on the team. But she'd never been tardy; ever. He didn't want to have to ask Winnie to start calling hospitals...

Locking down Union Station proved to be a nightmare. Hundreds of thousands of people passed through daily, and TTC controllers were attempting to keep things running smoothly, but their efforts so far were failing miserably. Angry commuters were told to get back on buses and streetcars that had brought them there in the first place to be detoured to different stations along the route.

News bulletins went out that passengers would be facing major delays, and to avoid Union Station as it was being evacuated due to a bomb threat. Traffic down Front Street was also halted and re-routed, much to the frustration of downtown drivers.

* * *

When Jules regained consciousness, she immediately became aware that her mouth was taped shut, and that something was covering her eyes. The back of her skull ached from where she'd been pistol-whipped. She tried to move her arms, but found that her wrists were bound behind her with what felt like several layers of duct tape, and that she was seated on an uncomfortably hard chair. She tried to move her legs, but found they were similarly restrained.

_Blindfolded, gagged, and bound,_ she thought sullenly. _Just great._

The scuffle of feet grabbed her attention, and she involuntarily sucked in a sharp breath.

A couple words were spoken softly in a foreign language. Jules instinctively knew they were not being directed at her, but perhaps being shared between two people. She'd barely heard what had been said, but she was almost certain the language being spoken was Spanish.

_That goes with my first impression of the guys who grabbed me_, Jules thought. _Hispanic._ She couldn't detect any other sounds except for the pounding of her own heart and her breathing. Whoever was here with her was maintaining his or her silence at the moment. Her nose was starting to register other scents and smells. She detected the high, sweet odor of marijuana, as well as stale cigarette smoke, booze and sweat.

Head still feeling slightly woozy, Jules gave it a shake in an attempt to clear it, which of course didn't help much, and only served to aggravate her sore head. She could feel the knot of her blindfold digging into the very spot she'd been struck.

More murmured words, again in Spanish.

Then, the sound of footsteps drawing closer. Jules tensed, not knowing what to expect, praying that no further harm would come to her.

The blindfold was lifted from her face, and Jules blinked against the sudden onslaught of light from a bright overhead source.

"So, you are awake."

Jules focused on the person in front of her. It was a woman, dark-haired, brown-skinned and about thirty-five years old. The woman's face held no trace of warmth or compassion. Her dark eyes were empty, and Jules read there total contempt and hatred – which she sensed was fully directed at her.

_If looks could kill_, Jules thought, chilled at the notion that this stranger's eyes could convey such a strong emotion. _What could this woman possibly want with me? And why?_

Behind the woman stood three toughs, possibly from the same group that had abducted her.

"You don't know who I am, but I know who you are," the woman spoke in icy tones. "At least, I know what it is you have done."

The woman's voice carried an accented lilt.

Jules frowned in confusion.

"Before today is over, everyone will know what you did. And after today, you will have served as an example to all who would dare to harm a member of _mi familia_. Nobody – not even the _policia_ will ever raise a weapon against us again."

_What is she _talking_ about? _Jules' mind raced.

Her captor must have seen her confusion. "You have forgotten about it already? It is not even any longer in your mind what you have done?"

Jules felt the sting of a slap from the woman's rough, calloused hand, and couldn't prevent a grunt of pain from rising in her throat.

"Elena..." one of the three men spoke in a warning voice.

"I know," the woman snapped, not even bothering to look back at him. "It is not yet time..."

_So, her name's '_Elena', Jules thought. _And she has a major problem with me for some reason. This, of course is a big problem, since _I_ don't have the slightest clue what that reason is..._

Elena composed herself from her earlier outburst and bent down and stared directly into Jules' eyes. "You _will_ pay for what you have done, but not before I bring your entire police force to its knees."

* * *

The cavernous lobby of Union Station was finally emptied of all commuters and non-essential personnel.

Team One had full control now, and Spike was making final calibrations to the anti-explosives robot. The suspicious backpack had been left quite in plain sight, under the large clock at the departures information center.

Greg talked over what they already knew of the situation with Ed.

"So, the first call comes in to TTC customer service, telling them that there's a bomb somewhere in the lobby here... Winnie got through to that rep and confirmed the voice sounded male, in accented English, maybe a South American accent."

"Which may or may not be the guy from yesterday on the streetcar," Ed interjected.

"Yeah," Greg responded. "Any witnesses who might have seen anybody setting that backpack down is probably long gone by now, so..."

"Boss, we just might catch a break with that one," Lou spoke up.

"What are you thinking?"

Lou turned and pointed to the end of the lobby. "Scotiabank ATMs. We might have some issues with depth of field, but if we're lucky, our mystery bomber might have been caught on the cameras."

Greg slapped his hands together, glad for the potential break. "That's good thinking, Lou. You and Wordy get on that now. We need that footage ASAP."

Lou and Wordy left immediately to obtain the security footage.

"Spike, how're things coming with Babycakes?" Greg asked.

"Almost ready, Boss," Spike responded. He picked up the boxy remote control, and with a huge grin, powered the robot, and controlled its motions down the ramp from the truck, and finally inside the lobby. "We're coming in right now."

Greg's cell phone rang, and he saw that it was Winnie.

"Hey, Winnie, have you reached Jules?"

"No, Sarge..." Winnie said haltingly. "But I have someone on the line demanding to speak to you. He says he has information about the bomb."

"Oh?" Greg sounded surprised. He put aside the nagging worry about his still-missing team member, and gave Winnie the go-ahead to patch through the caller. Ed and Sam also tuned in.

"My name's Greg Parker, and I'm with the Strategic Response Unit. Who am I speaking with?

"You don't need to know that," the voice replied, low and slightly accented.

"I see... Well, sir, you did call us. You have information that might be helpful to this situation?"

"Helpful to you, no... but helpful to me, yes."

"Care to explain what you mean by that?" Greg asked.

"Very soon, I am sure, you will discover that the explosive device in the backpack is another dud. However, unless you meet my demands, there will be several other reports of suspicious packages all over the city. And I cannot guarantee that all of those will be duds."

"So let's talk about your demands," Greg said calmly, in as non-threatening a manner as he could muster.

"Fine," the voice replied. "Ten days ago, there was a raid on a building in Parkdale by your Vice people. They seized 15 kilograms of cocaine, an unspecified amount of marijuana, and 10 kilograms of ecstacy. I want all of that returned."

Greg flashed a look of dismay and disbelief at Ed and Sam. Their expressions were equally troubled.

"Well, you know that's going to take some time," Greg said carefully. "It's going to take a lot of cooperation between my unit and the folks over in Vice. But I have to tell you sir, what you're asking for is a pretty tall order. What assurances do I have from you that you're not going to keep planting bombs all over town if I give you what you want?"

The anonymous caller gave a short laugh. "Well, I think that you really do not have any way of knowing whether or not I will stop. But let me give you an added incentive: quite apart from having to defuse bombs in random locations, unless you give me exactly what I have asked for, your team will have one less member. I think you are already aware that she missed work today? You have twenty-four hours to obtain that 'cooperation' with your Vice squad."

The line went dead.

"Hello?" Greg yelled frantically, but the caller was gone. "Winnie! Get him back!"

"Sorry, Sarge," Winnie's voice was apologetic. "He must have been using a disposable phone. Blocked ID; no GPS. We can't trace it."

"Damn it," Greg swore.

Ed scowled. "Can we be sure this guy is on the level? I mean, we have no proof he has Jules."

"How else could anyone know Jules didn't make it into work today unless they were the ones responsible?" Greg shot back angrily.

Ed pursed his lips, realising the truth of Greg's words.

"Jules..." Sam whispered, his mind and heart filling with a thousand regrets.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **If you're even reading _Flashpoint_ fanfiction, it probably means you're a rabid fan, and have seen all the episodes. Just in case you haven't seen all the episodes, I'll be kind and issue a blanket spoiler warning for the series. (Guess I should have done that from the beginning. Oh, well.)

3.

**UNION STATION: EXTERIOR COMMAND PERIMETER.**

Lou and Wordy were working to get the much-needed security footage from the ATMs, as well as from hidden cameras used by TTC security to monitor the area, which was something Spike had suggested.

Spike himself was still occupied with the anti-explosives robot. He maneuvered Babycakes towards the backpack inside the large lobby. Natural light that filled the area filtered through the huge, arched windows that were a feature of the station's beautiful design.

Even though their anonymous caller claimed this bomb was another dud, Greg did not want to take the chance that it wasn't.

He noted the anxious expressions on Sam and Ed's faces as they looked on. Greg knew that once Lou and Wordy found out that Jules was now at the mercy of what sounded like a very dangerous person, they, too, would be equally upset.

It would be up to him to set the tone, and re-focus their attention and energies on finding the person responsible for leaving the backpack behind. Greg prayed that if they were lucky enough to find that individual, that he'd also be able to lead them to Jules.

Greg's next course of action involved trying to make a connection between the odd demand made by the anonymous caller and the recent drug bust. He knew it would be a cold day in Hell before Vice handed confiscated illicit drugs back over to thugs, but he still needed to confirm some details.

His working theory was that it was a gang member involved with Jules' abduction, but wondered what petty gang used bomb scares to further their criminal activities. Greg decided to keep an open mind about different possibilities, but so far, none were presenting themselves.

"If it's drugs this guy wants in exchange for Jules, we need to get more intel on that drug bust," Greg said to Ed and Sam. "If it was a known gang that was busted, maybe we'll get some names."

Sam and Ed nodded in agreement.

"Winnie," Greg called the young woman back at headquarters. "I need to speak immediately with someone in Vice... uh, Unit commander over there is an Inspector Wallen, I think."

"You got it, Boss," Winnie said, and pulled her searchable list of district police units and staff, and prepared to connect Greg.

* * *

Vice Unit Staff Inspector Scott Wallen smiled at the sight of his visitor.

"Hey, Donna! What are you doing here?"

Constable Donna Sabine returned the smile, and shook hands with her former commander.

Scott Wallen was forty-five years old, ruggedly handsome and solidly built. A twenty-year veteran of the police force, he'd put in his time as a patrol officer before settling on Vice, and rose steadily through the ranks.

"Just thought I'd pay a visit to the old stomping grounds, for nostalgia's sake," Donna answered.

"It's great to see you," Scott said, as he sat back down behind his desk, and motioned for Donna to sit opposite him. "So, how's SRU working out for you? Getting tired of wearing the 'cool pants' yet?"

"Hardly," Donna replied with a small smile. "It's hard work, but I love it. I just actually landed a permanent spot on Team Three. So far, they've been very welcoming."

"That's great," Scott said enthusiastically. "But I don't envy you all those SIU hearings. Must drive you nuts every time you're called to use lethal force."

Donna shrugged slightly. "Yeah... that part of the job – that's the hard part. Honestly, it took me a while to get my head into it. I hadn't realised how unprepared I'd be for that first kill shot..."

Donna's thoughts flew back to the incident involving a prisoner escort that went sour. She'd been forced to take down an agent that was supposed to be working with them, but was instead working against them.

"I heard about that," Scott said sympathetically. "It's tough when it's one of our own."

"Speaking of which," Donna said, changing the subject, "how's my 'replacement' working out?"

Scott's expression darkened. "I don't know if I should hope we're right or wrong about Draper," he said. They were talking about an officer named Dale Draper, an eight-year veteran with two years in with Vice.

"My last day here, he actually thanked me for recommending him for the spot," Donna said, "but I know what you mean. Nothing worse than a dirty cop."

While there was no concrete evidence Dale Draper was on the take, Scott, Donna and a handful of other trusted members of the Vice unit arranged that he would be assigned a spot much closer to the drug action than he had been. The only way they could accomplish this without raising Draper's suspicions was to have a spot in the undercover division become available to him. They hoped that the closer he was to the criminals, the more likely it was he'd trip himself up – if he was indeed dirty.

Scott drummed his fingers on his desk. "I guess it was a happy coincidence you were getting antsy here in Vice," he said thoughtfully. "When you started hinting that you were looking for a transfer, it gave that added sense of realism to the situation that was badly needed to get Draper to buy into the whole deal."

To further entice Draper to accept the undercover assignment, Donna had led Draper to believe he had her support, and that she had spoken to their superiors about considering him to replace her. As far as anyone knew, Draper was unaware that this endorsement was patently false.

The phone on Scott's desk rang, halting their conversation on the matter.

"Inspector Wallen," he answered. He sent an apologetic look to Donna.

Donna pantomimed _I'll leave if you need privacy_, and Scott nodded with an even deeper look of apology. Donna waved off his unspoken regret, and quietly left his office, mouthing _I'll catch you later_.

Scott didn't recognize the voice on the other line, but he recognized the name.

"This is Sergeant Greg Parker, SRU..."

"How can I help you, Sergeant?" Scott asked, in a business-like fashion.

"I'm working a very sensitive case right now where time is of the essence. The fewer people that know what's going down, the better. I'm sure you heard about the bomb scare we had yesterday afternoon?"

"Yes, Sergeant," Scott said, "go on..."

"It looks like the guy behind it is at it again. Today he planted what's looking to be another dud in Union Station. The difference this time is that he called with a set of demands. What can you tell me about the drug bust that went down in Parkdale ten days ago?"

* * *

Jules' arms and legs were starting to ache from being in such a cramped, unnatural position. Her head was still sore, and her stomach was starting to rumble.

_That's the last time I go for a run before I eat breakfast_, she thought, and wondered if her abductors were going to be hospitable enough to feed her. _If I'm even alive long enough to need feeding! _Jules fought to banish the unsettling thought that she was not going to get out of this predicament alive.

At the moment, she was alone in the windowless room where she was being held captive. The overhead light had been switched off, but her eyes had since grown accustomed to the darkness. Her captors had left her mouth taped shut. The temperature in the room was cool, leading Jules to surmise she was being held underground, possibly in a basement.

Jules searched her memory for the hundredth time, but could not come up with any reason as to why she had been snatched. She didn't recognize the woman, Elena, or any of the three men who'd been guarding her earlier.

She had no idea how long she'd been unconscious, but she decided it couldn't have been for very long. By now, she knew Team One would notice she hadn't arrived for her shift. It pained her to think that they'd be worrying about her, but it was also a comfort to know for sure they'd be sending out the cavalry to look for her.

With another pang of guilt, she knew that ex-boyfriend and fellow SRU teammate, Sam Braddock, was probably _really_ worried about her. She'd been the one to terminate the relationship, in spite of his protests that they could make things work. Even though she was aware that Sam was dating someone new, she noticed the way he looked at her sometimes. It was nothing overt, but she still managed to catch his stolen glances and concealed expressions of desire that he occasionally sent her way.

_Sorry, Sam... _she thought.

And the way Greg and the rest of the team had welcomed her back... it was like returning to her own family.

_Guys, you have to find me. I don't know why these people have taken me. I don't know what it is they seem to think I've done. Because if you don't find me, I'm afraid they're going to kill me. I've just cheated death a few months ago. I don't want to die. Not now. Not after what I've been through._

Jules' ears perked up at the sound of a door opening.

She saw a feminine figure move through the darkness.

Elena had returned.

"We've just given instructions to your boss..." Elena's voice was hard as nails. "He and the rest of your pathetic police force will just be running around like chickens with their heads cut off. By the time they realise that they are being played for fools, it will be much too late for you."

Jules could not stop the involuntary shudder that rippled through her body at these words.

_Find me, Sam. Please...Hurry..._

_

* * *

_

"The bust in Parkdale was a joint take-down with Gangs and Guns," Scott Wallen explained to Greg. "Collared several members of a gang that goes by the name of _Los Reyes del Norte_."

"'The Northern Kings'," Greg gave the approximate translation.

"Yeah," Scott replied. "Seized several kilos of cocaine, some marijuana, and about ten kilos of ecstacy. We also picked up some weapons and such, but nothing serious in that regard. We'd been watching them for a while. One of our snitches informed us they were about to move the stuff to get it to the streets, so we decided to act."

Greg breathed heavily, deciding to reveal the desperate nature of the situation. "He's holding one of my people hostage, Inspector. Says he'll kill her unless we deliver those seized drugs."

Scott cursed under his breath. "Aw, hell!"

"Where's this gang's main territory?" Greg asked.

"Nowhere now," Scott said. "We grabbed most of them. The rest scattered like dust in the wind."

"Hmm," Greg said, deep in thought. "It had crossed my mind that grabbing my constable was some sort of retribution for the drug bust, but..."

"This gang was circling the drain, Sergeant," Scott said. "That bust ten days ago was like a death knell. Between other gangs muscling in on their territory and plain attrition, the Northern Kings just don't have the resources to regroup so fast. I can't see that they'd organize something this elaborate in such a short space of time."

"I see. Just the same, I need to know for sure if they're connected. The members that were arrested... where are they being held?"

"They were remanded to The West," Scott replied, meaning the West Detention center in the north-western part of town. "They're awaiting arraignment on various and sundry charges, as you can imagine. Why, you wanna rattle a few chains up there and see what they spill?"

Greg had been considering this. Knowing they had very few leads, he realised he might very well have to look for answers among the incarcerated members of the busted gang.

"We just might have to," Greg responded.

"Okay," Scott said. "You do what you have to do. Just know you have the full cooperation of my Unit if you need us. Sergeant, I hope you get your constable out alive."

"I do, too," Greg said solemnly.

With that, they terminated the call.

"Boss?" Constable Scarlatti's voice came through Greg's earpiece.

"Go ahead, Spike," he answered.

"Bomb's another dud. If we set it off ourselves, it's just going to be a bunch of smoke again, just like yesterday on the streetcar."

"You sure about that, Spike?"

"Positive. Babycakes detected no traces of anything more 'explosive' than potassium nitrate, a little gunpowder for '_pow_' factor, a fuse and simple ignition device that's probably triggered by a cell phone signal."

Greg angrily whipped his cap off and scrubbed his scalp. Smoke bombs were simple enough to make, and anyone with a little technical know-how could rig it to explode with a cell phone signal.

"I guess that's the good news," Greg said, shoving his cap back on his head. "Okay, Spike, take care of it. I'm sure the traffic commission will be relieved to hear they won't have to deal with any property damage today."

Winnie called through immediately after Greg finished his talk with Spike.

"Sarge, a patrol unit has just confirmed that Constable Callaghan is not at her residence, and that her vehicle is still there, too. No sign of a break-in or forced entry. Neighbours haven't seen her. I took the extra step of calling local hospitals, just in case...and _nada._ No sign of her anywhere."

Greg felt his spirits sink. He could hear the note of distress in Winnie's voice, too. If he'd any lingering doubts at all that the anonymous caller had been bluffing about Jules, those doubts had just gone out the window.

"Thanks, Winnie," Greg said sullenly. "Keep me posted if you hear anything more."

"Will do, Sarge," Winnie said.

Greg put his cell phone away. _Jules_, he thought,_ hang in there. We're coming. We'll find you. We're not going to lose you. Not after we just got you back._

Sam looked like he was ready to shoot something, while Ed's expression was grim. Both knew that every minute that ticked by was one less minute they had to find Jules.

* * *

Lou and Wordy finally arrived with the ATM and TTC security camera footage. Greg provided them with an update, and both expressed their outrage that Jules was being held hostage. They were now quite keen to look at the video they'd just brought back.

Inside the tactical truck, they reviewed the images. Working backwards from the time the bomb threat was called into the TTC customer service, they focused on people loitering around the departures information center.

Lou, who'd elected to take the bank machine footage, let out a frustrated growl. "Images are too blurry... I was afraid of this. We probably won't be able to make out anything concrete, even if this guy _was _caught on video."

"Keep trying, Lou," Greg said encouragingly. "Do the best you can to enhance what we have."

"Right, Boss," Lou said.

"Anything promising?" Greg asked Wordy.

"Nothing yet, but the quality of video looks a lot better than what Lou has to work with," Wordy replied optimistically. "If he's on here, we'll probably be able to grab a good still of his face."

Greg's phone rang, and he saw it was SRU headquarters again. "You got something for me, Winnie?" he asked.

"Yeah, Sarge," Winnie replied hurriedly. "It sounds like the same guy calling again. He wants to speak with you."

Greg sucked in a breath. "Put him through, Winnie."

This time, Sam, Ed, Wordy and Lou were privy to the conversation.

"Hello again, Sergeant Greg Parker," the same voice from earlier spoke. "How is that 'cooperation' coming with your Vice unit that we talked about?"

"We spoke," Greg said slowly. "They told me about what happened ten days ago in Parkdale."

"So you know that I was telling the truth, then, about the drugs they seized," the caller said.

"Yes. You were right about that," Greg said. "I also know that several members of _Los Reyes del Norte_ were taken into custody... and that the rest of them have scattered."

"So maybe I want to resurrect _Los Reyes del Norte_," the voice said, in an amused tone. "Your time is running out, Sergeant Parker. You have less than twenty-two hours now to deliver what it is we want. Every hour you spend stalling will result in more calls to your police services about more bombs concealed throughout various locations in this city, as I have warned you. I remind you again that if we do not get what we want, the life of your team member is the ultimate price for your failure."

The line went dead.

Greg slammed his fist on the wall of the truck. His gut was churning with anxiety and frustration.

"Greg, did you notice something different about what he said?" Ed asked, tying to placate his Sergeant. "This time he said '_we_'; not _'I_', as in: 'if _we_ do not get what we want'."

Greg calmed himself and sent Ed a grateful look. "Yeah, you're right, Eddie."

"He's definitely working with someone else!" Sam said.

"Goes with my original theory, then," Greg commented, "that we're dealing with a gang."

"Think it's those scattered members of _Los Reyes del Norte_ trying for a comeback?" Ed asked.

Greg frowned. "Inspector Wallen over in Vice seemed not to think so... I mean, anything is possible, but there's something about all of this that just isn't right. I can't put my finger on it..."

Lou looked up from the monitor he'd been peering at. "_Los Reyes del Norte_ was really decimated by gang wars the last few years. From what I know about them, I don't think there's anybody left who has the power or the brains to orchestrate something like this."

Greg mulled over Lou's information, which confirmed what Inspector Scott Wallen had said. He snapped his fingers.

"I know what's been bugging me. For all the demands and threats this guy's been making, he's been very specific about everything from the amount of drugs that were seized, to the duds that have been planted."

"Yeah, so it just means he's really organized and knows his stuff," Ed spoke up.

"But he still hasn't told us _where_ to bring these drugs he wants to claim! You don't demand something without having some means of receiving what it is you're demanding. No. There's something else going on here, guys. I think we're being jerked around. Lou; Wordy, keep working on this security footage."

Lou and Wordy nodded solemnly.

"If we figure out who this guy is, we'll be one step closer to figuring out his real agenda."

Greg didn't have to say aloud what they were all hoping, which was that those answers would come in time to save Jules.

As a precautionary measure, he advised Winnie to put all available teams on alert, in case more bomb threats did indeed come through.

Knowing that Ed and Sam would refuse to remain idle, he decided the time was right for them to learn more about the busted members of _Los Reyes del Norte_, no matter how tenuous a connection there might be to Jules' abduction.

* * *

Reynaldo Villalobos reveled in the fresh air and bright sunlight once he was finally past the gates of the detention center after he'd made bail. As soon as he was freed from custody, he was transported immediately by members of his organization to one of their properties. He knew Elena would be there, waiting for him as well. He was quite anxious to see how the others were succeeding with the plan.

He was welcomed back by his compatriots, handed a lit joint, and a bottle of something he barely tasted when he poured it down his throat. It was fairly depressing to be taken into a somewhat run-down building and down some concrete steps to a cool basement, but Reynaldo knew that in this kind of neighbourhood, no one bothered you, which was quite perfect for their current operation.

Elena was standing in the doorway of a small, windowless room.

"_¡Bienvenido, _Reynaldo_!_," she greeted him.

Jules heard this from her chair, and could not keep up with the Spanish that tumbled from their lips. She recognized 'Welcome'; that she knew. She picked up on the fact that they had a new arrival whose name was evidently 'Reynaldo', but after that, was totally lost as to the content of the conversation. She thought she caught a few other names in-between, like _Hector_, _Enrique,_ and the name _Oscar_ a couple times.

The overhead light was suddenly switched on. Jules grimaced, and blinked at the harsh brightness. When she could finally tolerate the light, Jules looked up and saw Elena and Reynaldo staring at her. She saw Reynaldo was about thirty years old, and wearing an expression of confusion.

"No..." the word was drawn out slowly, as he shook his head. He said something else to Elena, which Jules again could not decipher.

Elena turned to him and fired off some angry words.

"No, no," Reynaldo protested, defensively holding up his hands. "_Rubia._"

That word Jules recognized: _Blonde._

Elena's face twitched. "_Rubia_."

Reynaldo nodded. "_S__í._" He gestured towards Jules, and seemed to be patiently explaining something further to Elena.

Elena looked at Jules, and back at Reynaldo. She hissed something, and judging by Reynaldo's reaction, Jules knew it wasn't anything pretty.

Elena fumed. She pulled out a cell phone and dialled a number furiously.

"What am I paying you for if you do not give me what I want?" she screeched into the phone, not even bothering with a greeting when the other party answered.

Jules tried to pay close attention, relieved now that Elena was conversing in English. Obviously, the person she'd called didn't speak Spanish.

"_Estúpido!_" Elena bellowed. "You said it was the female! We have her now... but Reynaldo was there when it happened. He says this is not the one... this mix-up would _not_ have happened at all if you had simply done what I had asked, and that was to provide us with the police file... Stop. I do not want any more of your excuses. I do not pay you for mistakes; I pay you for your usefulness to me for your position with the police."

Elena snapped her phone shut. She strode over to Jules.

"I should kill you right now," she said, her voice laced with contempt, "but I will not. It will all very much depend on what your Sergeant Parker says and does next. If I do not get from him the answer I want, you will have outlived your usefulness to me as a hostage."


	4. Chapter 4

4.

Donna Sabine pocketed her cell phone and took a quick moment to poke her head back into Inspector Wallen's office. She saw he was finished with the telephone conversation that had earlier interrupted her visit, and that he was wearing a troubled expression.

"Scott," she said, and he looked up to meet her gaze. "I have to go. They've called me in for emergency back-up. Something's going down with a series of bomb threats, so I can't stick around."

Scott nodded. "Okay. Stay safe, Sabine, and don't be a stranger!"

Donna departed with a wave. As she hurriedly walked the stalls of the multi-level parking lot towards her car, she saw a familiar figure hunched near a support pillar, staring at his own cell phone.

_Dale Draper_, Donna thought with distaste, but plastered a congenial smile on her face when the other officer looked up and recognized her.

Thirty-five years old, stocky, with sandy, blond hair and stubble on his ruddy cheeks, Dale Draper was dressed in a T-shirt, dirty denim jacket, jeans, and scuffed work boots.

"Hi, Dale," she greeted him.

"Sabine," he acknowledged her neutrally. He closed his hand around his phone and slipped it into his belt clip. "Didn't expect to see you here..."

"Just visiting. Sorry I can't stay and chat," she said, trying to forestall a conversation. "I've just been called out on urgent duty."

"Alright," Dale said, as Donna continued on her way, "see ya 'round, I guess!"

When Donna was out of sight, Dale took a few moments to compose himself. She was the _last_ person he'd expected to see, that was certain. He wondered what she was _really_ doing around these parts. On a hunch, he went up to his commander's office.

"Hey, Wallen," Dale called out when he reached Scott's open door. He jabbed a thumb behind him and said: "I just ran into Donna Sabine back there in the parking lot. What, is she lookin' to transfer back into Vice, or something?"

"Hi, Draper," Scott returned the greeting. "No, no, Donna was just stopping by to say 'hi' to some old faces. She just got called out on an emergency."

"Oh." Dale replied with a nod.

"Yeah. Seems she's just got on with SRU's Team Three on a permanent basis, so no; she's not looking to steal her spot back from you, if that's what you're worried about," Scott continued, lightly teasing his subordinate.

"Team Three, huh? Well, good for her," Dale said through a half-grin. "She's a tough one. Hope it works out for her..."

"Something else you came here for, Draper?" Scott asked, looking pointedly at the stacks of files he had on his desk.

"Naw," Dale said with a shake of his head. "Just getting the lowdown on Sabine, that's all. I'm outta here. Have a good day, Inspector."

"Good day, officer," Scott replied, and Dale turned and left.

_Donna's on Team Three?! Shit,_ Dale thought angrily to himself, as he walked away from Scott's office. _Who the hell did those morons grab since it wasn't Donna? _

Donna had been recruited for the spot on Team One. Everybody knew that. It had been a big achievement for her, making it through the hundreds of potential applicants and coming out on top...

_If it wasn't Donna... It's not like there's a bunch of skirts in SRU positions_, Draper considered the ratio of male-to-female staff in that specialized law enforcement unit._ I thought Donna was the only one!_

He knew what he could do. He'd ask one of the civilian staff to pull the SRU rosters for him so he could see for himself where he had miscalculated.

Five minutes later, Draper was looking at thirty-five names. Each of the five SRU teams were manned by seven members, and he ran down the lists carefully. He quickly spotted Donna's distinctly female name at the end of the alphabetical listing for Team Three, confirming what Inspector Wallen had told him.

Dale noted Donna had been officially added to the Team Three roster two weeks ago. He swore under his breath when he read a second distinctly female name, second down, on the list for Team One: _Julianna Callaghan. _

The name was familiar: Julianna 'Jules' Callaghan had been all over the news when she'd been gravely wounded in the line of duty. Draper knew Constable Callaghan had almost died from her injuries. Her absence from her team was the reason why Donna Sabine had jumped over from Vice.

_But she's back now!_ Draper gave himself a mental slap. _It's got to be Callaghan_ _they grabbed_. The irony of the situation was almost comical, but Draper was in no mood to laugh about it.

He returned to the parking lot and sat in the privacy of his car, where he placed a phone call.

"_For your sake, I hope you are calling with something I will find useful!_" The voice on the other side of the call was icy.

Draper had been expecting this reaction. He grinned. "The information I have is more than 'useful'," he said, "it's _exactly_ what you've been wanting all along."

* * *

The 'threat' of the smoke bomb at Union Station was successfully contained, much to the relief of TTC officials, and to Team One. After clearing out of the lobby, Greg had an announcement for the team:

"Our number one priority now is getting Jules back alive. This is one case we are _not_ handing over to another team to handle, I can guarantee you that."

Reflected in the eyes of the rest of his officers, Greg saw fierce determination. This was one hostage-taking they had no intention of bungling.

It bothered Greg that they were still no closer to identifying Jules' kidnappers. Every cop in the Greater Toronto Area had a description of the twenty-something Hispanic male from the streetcar. Sam and Ed were making themselves useful by checking to see if there were any hits on that APB, but thus far nothing promising had materialized.

Following up on the notion that Jules' disappearance was gang-related, Greg put in a call to the Guns and Gangs department.

"I need as much information I can get about _Los Reyes del Norte,_" Greg said, when he reached Inspector Hal Chevalier of Guns and Gangs.

"They're done," Hal answered with a hint of pride. "It's tough war we're fighting, but we're confident we've taken care of that particular brand of scum. Why do you ask?"

Greg explained what demands were being made for the return of his officer.

"Something's really wrong with that picture," Hal said contemplatively. "It couldn't be a Northern King. The couple of guys who escaped our take-down are low-level punks. One of them we know for sure wasn't even in Parkdale at the time of the bust. We're talking kids, here, Sergeant Parker, like seventeen years old at most, and too stupid to do something like what you're describing."

"Then who else could have known about the quantity of drugs seized?" Greg asked, growing more frustrated by the lack of progress.

Hal Chevalier sighed uncomfortably. "I don't know...But I will say that we do run a pretty tight ship here in Guns..."

"Are you saying you think this is an _inside_ job?" Greg asked incredulously, picking up on the implications of Hal's drawn out response.

"Well, since the head honchos of the Northern Kings are sitting in prison cells awaiting trial, you tell me who else is in the position to know what your anonymous caller knows."

"Yeah," Greg said, grudgingly accepting the possibility.

"Another thing," Hal commented, "if I were with _Los Reyes_, and I found out someone was trying to profit from my incarceration, I'd be mighty pissed."

"I'd be pissed, too... Thanks, Inspector Chevalier, your information has been really helpful."

"No problem, Sergeant. If you need anything more from us, call us, especially since there's an officer's life on the line here."

"You got it," Greg said, and ended the call.

"Anything?" Sam asked Greg anxiously.

Greg gave his head a negative shake. "Only that Guns and Gangs also seems to think the Northern Kings couldn't be behind this. Although, Inspector Chevalier did raise an unsettling point: if it's not _Los Reyes_, how in the hell does our anonymous guy know intimate details about the drug bust in Parkdale?"

"Think someone's been leaking information from the inside?" Ed queried.

"I sure hope not, Eddie," Greg replied. "But if so, why grab Jules? And why still no word on a drop-off location? Even if they're smart enough to know there's no way we'll hand the confiscated drugs over, at the very least they'd go through the motions of setting up a meeting place to make the exchange."

"Unless..." Ed said, frightened at his own sudden line of thinking.

"Unless what?" Sam asked.

Something Donna Sabine had told him weeks ago flashed through Ed's mind, reminding him that the players in a gang-related kidnapping scenario could be ruthless and would likely kill their hostage even if they _did_ get what they wanted.

"Unless they have no intention of letting Jules go at all," Ed quietly finished his sentence.

"Boss," Wordy called out, "I think I have something!"

Greg turned to see what Wordy had, thankful for the interruption. He hadn't yet wanted to dwell on the possibility that they wouldn't get Jules back safely.

The glow of the monitor was harsh, and Greg had to blink a couple times to focus on the image frozen on the screen.

"There," Wordy said, pointing a gloved finger at a young man inside the lobby of Union Station, right in front of the departures information center. A black backpack was slung over one shoulder. He was wearing large sunglasses and a white, hooded jacket, in spite of the warmth of the day.

"I'll jog the footage ahead a few seconds," Wordy said. "See? He puts it down and just saunters off. That's the guy. We just don't have much of his face visible is the problem. The hood and the shades get in the way. Pretty nondescript clothes... arms covered by the jacket sleeves, so we can't see any tats..."

"Zoom in on his face anyway, Wordy," Greg instructed, "and get this picture out as fast as possible. We need to see if anybody can ID this guy, so make sure Vice and Guns and Gangs gets it right away."

"You got it," Wordy said.

In the meantime, Team Four had deployed when another bomb threat was anonymously called in.

When Winnie advised Greg that SRU teams had now responded to three bomb calls in total during the past two days, he knew the possibility existed that the teams might be stretched too thin.

"Winnie, see if our friends with the Peel region bomb squad can spare some manpower," he said, fearing that the SRU teams might be too pre-occupied with possible bomb threats to answer other critical incidents only they had the tools and expertise to handle.

"Putting the call out now, Sarge," Winnie replied.

Greg scowled. _Another one_, he thought with disgust. This was starting to get ugly, and he knew it was only going to get worse unless they got to the bottom of what was going on.

A third bomb threat, especially once the media got wind of it, would likely cause a new wave of panic in the city. It would escalate and bring law enforcement agencies under closer scrutiny, which would only make their jobs that much more difficult. In fact, he was still debating whether or not to allow media outlets to announce Jules' abduction. He didn't want to do anything to antagonize her kidnappers, and sensed that making it public just might be a poor decision, and he didn't want to further jeopardize her life.

* * *

Luis Marquez watched the action from the throng gathered behind some barriers that had been hastily placed by some harried-looking police officers. He knew it was risky staying where he was, but he had to. His mission after planting the third suspicious backpack wasn't quite over yet.

From the murmurs of the people around him, Luis could tell that everyone was worried, frightened and on edge.

_Bomb threats do that to people_, he thought gleefully. Already wild theories were flying around about terrorism and imminent attacks. Luis could almost physically feel the level of fear rising, and he got a serious kick out of it. Even though he was simply following orders, he sure was enjoying the results of his handiwork.

After about fifteen minutes of slipping in and out amidst the gathered people and trying to remain inconspicuous, Luis finally saw the approach of the very thing he'd been waiting to see.

A group of law enforcement vehicles with lights flashing and personnel from a Strategic Response Unit pulled up to the cordoned-off site. Luis counted them off as they got out of their trucks, and when he got to the seventh man, he shook his head and made a soft sound of exasperation.

Luis skulked away from the crowd. He pulled out his pre-paid cell phone, dialled a number and uttered one word:

"_Negativo._"

Luis knew it wasn't what the person on the other side of the call was hoping for. In this instance, he hoped his boss would be upset only by the message, and not the messenger.

* * *

Jules tried to ignore the growling of her empty stomach, as well as her aching limbs. Her feet and hands were numb now, causing her to worry a little bit about her circulation. She did know it had been a while since someone had last checked on her, possibly an hour, if her sense of time was remotely accurate. It was difficult to judge the passage of time without the benefit of a watch or even the sun shining through a window, but instinct and experience told her that roughly sixty minutes had elapsed since Elena had advised her that she was expendable.

As if in reply to her thoughts, Jules heard the door to her little room open.

Elena entered along with another man that Jules didn't recognize.

Jules wondered what was going on, and for a moment wondered if her time was up.

_Oh, no._ _God, this can't be how it ends. I'm not gonna die in some grungy basement suite!_

But instead, Elena reached out and pulled off the tape from Jules' mouth. The adhesive peeling away from her skin caused her to grimace, but the pain quickly passed, and Jules tentatively moistened her lips, realising how odd her tongue felt.

"Do not even try to scream," Elena stated, "because there is no one who will hear you."

Jules made no reply, but stared back in defiance.

"My patience grows short," Elena continued. "While I am enjoying watching your police squirm, such games are tiresome. Now, you will deliver a message to your boss, Sergeant Greg Parker. If you do a good job, I might consider letting you live."

Jules considered. "What kind of message?" she asked skeptically.

Elena held out a piece of paper, and indicated a short, typewritten paragraph. Jules' eyes narrowed in confusion when she'd read it.

"I don't understand," Jules said, looking up at the other woman.

"It is not for you to understand," Elena shot back, eyes blazing. "It is just for you to obey, otherwise you _will_ die!"

The man accompanying Elena produced a pistol from his waistband and pointed the barrel at Jules.

Elena's smile was pure venom. "So what will it be, Julianna Callaghan? Obedience, or death?"

* * *

"Winnie, you have something for me?" Greg asked when he answered his cell.

"Sarge... it's _him_ again," the dispatcher said warily.

"Okay, Winnie," Greg said, motioning to the rest of the team that they were once again going to be communicating with Jules' kidnapper. They all tuned in to hear the conversation.

"I think by now you can see that the threats have continued," the now-familiar voice chortled. "There has been another bomb threat issued."

"Yes," Greg said, "I can see you were serious about that part of your threat. But I need to know that you're going to give me a chance to make good on my side of things before you harm my team member. I need to know that she's still alive and unharmed, sir, otherwise my pals over in Vice, they're not going to want to cooperate with murderers."

"She is still very much alive at this point," came the reply. "Whether or not she remains that way will depend entirely on what you say and do next. Tell, me, Sergeant: are you one of those heroic types who would willingly die for another like we see so much on television and in movies?"

Greg gritted his teeth. _What kind of question is this?!_

"If you're asking me if I'd willingly put myself where my team member is right now, then the answer is 'yes'."

There was an exclamation of mirth from the other end of the call.

"And what about the _rest_ of your team? Are they similarly inclined to sacrifice themselves?"

"I'm gonna be honest with you," Greg replied. "I can only speak for myself, but I trust my team with my life. They're like family, and we'd all do whatever it takes to make sure everyone in our family gets home safe every night."

"Thank you for your answers, Sergeant. As for your missing 'family member', as you put it, I thought you might want some sort of 'proof of life'. Is that not what you call it? So I have arranged for her to deliver a message to you. You see, I have changed my mind. The drugs will not be enough to satisfy me."

Greg inhaled deeply, and wondered what new outlandish demand was about to be made.

"Okay, tell me what is it you think will 'satisfy' you, and we'll see if we can make it happen."

"Ah, you are so agreeable! Here, I will let your team member explain it to you..."

Greg's hold on his phone tightened, highly anticipating hearing Jules' voice with his own ears so he could be fully convinced she was unharmed.

"Greg..." Jules' voice came through, and everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"Jules, it's great to hear you!" Greg said. "How are you holding up? Have you been harmed?"

"I'm okay, Greg," Jules replied hastily. "But I have to read this message to you, otherwise they say they'll kill me..."

"It's alright, Jules...we won't let that happen. Everything will be okay. What's the message?"

" 'In exchange for the life of Julianna Callaghan, you will deliver to the basement suite of the 'Trance' nightclub the drugs obtained in the Parkdale bust... _and_ the person responsible for the murder of Oscar Cardoza.' "

Greg could hardly believe his ears. "What? Jules - "

"You have until six PM to make this happen, Sergeant Parker," Jules' captor had obviously taken back the phone, "or you will never see your team member alive again."

Before he could protest, Greg was listening to dial tone.


	5. Chapter 5

**SRU HEADQUARTERS**

Word of Constable Jules Callaghan's abduction spread quickly but quietly through the department.

A thorough canvassing of her entire neighbourhood was underway, though no one remembered seeing or hearing anything suspicious.

Five members of Team Three had already assembled at headquarters after being summoned there. This particular Friday was supposed to be a day off in their schedule, but they were now on stand-by mode due to the heightened threat level stemming from the potential multiple bomb scares.

While they waited for action, they gathered in the weight room, watching television. A sudden news bulletin interrupted the program they'd been viewing.

They stared in disbelief as the anchorwoman announced that they'd just been sent some disturbing footage from an anonymous source claiming responsibility for the spate of bomb scares.

"What you are about to see was sent as a video attachment in an e-mail to one of our producers here at CJYT,"the grave-faced newscaster said. The scene cut from the news desk to the alleged footage.

The grainy image revealed little in the way of details. A shadowy figure appeared in a darkened room and started speaking in a low, accented tone.

_"We claim responsibility for the multiple bomb threats that have happened over the last twenty-four hours. There will be more if the police do not cooperate. We demand justice for the murder of Oscar Cardoza. You will hand over to us the person responsible for this heinous crime. You will also publicly admit your error in this wrongful death, or there will be devastating consequences."_

The members of Team Three stood riveted to what was unfolding on the TV screen.

The scene switched to show a still, digital photo of another figure, seated, blindfolded and bound to a wooden chair; mouth taped shut.

"That's Jules Callaghan!" one member of Team Three named Bobby Drake cried out in recognition.

Shaky footage followed. The quality was poor, and showed a crowded downtown street, with two figures clad in black SRU uniforms motioning for the people to move away and disburse.

"That looks like constables Braddock and Callaghan," Team Three Sergeant Nate Hanson observed. He was a tall man, square-jawed, with a crew-cut and an impressive build.

"And they're on Queen. That's gotta be from yesterday's bomb scare," Bobby Drake put in. The most junior member of the team, he was still extremely observant and full of boundless energy.

The scene flipped back to the man in shadows.

_"You have just seen a member of the Strategic Response Unit. She is currently in our custody. This is a reminder to police that she will be killed unless all our demands are met by six PM." _

There, the video ended. After a pause, the broadcast returned to the news desk. The reporter idly shuffled the papers in front of her, then ad-libbed:

"We have no official reports from police at this time about any missing officers, or any news of any other group claiming responsibility for the bomb threats. So as it stands, we have been unable to confirm with authorities the veracity of what you have just seen, but we will be following this story as it develops...This is Sally Sinclair, reporting from the CJYT news desk. We now return you to your regularly-scheduled program."

Stupefied, the members of Team Three wondered what to make of what they'd just seen.

"Idiots," Nate Hanson said angrily. "Who the hell gave them permission to run that footage? This is going to create mass panic. I swear, those news vultures are the most irresponsible, stupid, and callous people on the planet!"

"Who the hell is Oscar Cardoza?" Bobby Drake queried.

"I know," a voice spoke up.

Drake, Hanson, and the other Team Three constables turned to look at the new arrival.

"Hey, Sabine," Drake greeted the latest addition to his team, Donna Sabine. "You seriously knew that Cardoza character?"

"Yes," she replied grimly. "I'm the one that killed him."

"Ho-ly!" Bobby Drake exclaimed, eyes wide.

"And now," Donna said soberly, "those bastards want to kill Jules Callaghan because of what I've done."

* * *

**MOBILE COMMAND POST**

Greg's head was spinning. Hearing Jules' voice had alleviated his initial fears that she might already be dead, but he knew with certainty that if they didn't resolve this mess by six PM, they'd never again hear her voice.

_Oscar Cardoza!_ _He's the scum we took down a few weeks ago at the Viper nightclub on Wellington and John..._

Greg looked up and saw his colleagues waiting for his instructions in expectant silence. Behind their exterior expressions of calm, Greg knew by the taut lines of mouth and clenched jaws that they were anxious, angry and worried.

"Greg..." Ed said, breaking the sombre mood. "This is _bad_."

"Yeah, Eddie," Greg answered. "They're out for revenge."

"But Jules had nothing to do with what happened to Oscar Cardoza," Sam protested.

"I know, Sam," Greg said, remembering that it had been former Team One member Donna Sabine to pull the trigger on the gang member.

"So all that crap about the Parkdale bust... this has nothing to do with drugs and _Los Reyes,_" Lou added, "but with _Huesos de Tigres _getting even."

Greg nodded. Several members of the gang had been apprehended when Team One had mounted a rescue mission to save a seven months-pregnant woman. Oscar Cardoza had been on the verge of executing the woman when Constable Sabine had fired, killing him instantly.

"It's a new game now. They've moved up the deadline, so we have to act quickly. Lou, get talking with Guns and Gangs right away. We need the latest intel on _Huesos de Tigres_, and we need it _now._"

"You got it, Boss," Lou said.

"Spike," Greg turned to the tech expert, "we have to be prepared to meet that six PM deadline at that Trance nightclub, in case they really are holding Jules there. I need floorplans; ownership records; whatever details you can get."

"On it," Spike replied.

Greg's cell phone chimed. "Hi, Winnie," he answered. "You got something new for me?"

"Sergeant, a local news station has just aired some really disturbing footage..."

Greg listened with growing discomfort as the dispatcher detailed the contents of the broadcast.

"You're _sure_ they had shots of Sam and Jules from yesterday?" Greg asked, after hearing what Winnie had to say.

"Affirmative," Winnie replied. "That particular segment looked to me like it was probably shot using a cheap camera phone. It was barely 15 seconds long, but it was definitely Sam and Jules."

"Thanks for the info, Winnie," Greg said, and hung up. "Did you hear that, Eddie? Our scumbags were watching us and recording our actions yesterday at Spadina and Queen."

Ed nodded, a scowl forming on his face as he assimilated this knowledge.

"That's how they were able to grab Jules," Sam reasoned. "They were watching us all along. Probably followed her home at the end of shift and waited for her to be alone."

"And she was a just convenient hostage?" Greg asked the question aloud. Something was still bothering him about that scenario. "It's what we've been asking ourselves from the beginning: _why_ Jules? Why not grab a random civilian? We'd have responded to any threat involving anyone they'd grabbed."

"Because she's a cop?" Sam postulated. "I mean, we tell ourselves we'd treat every case the same, whether it's one of us, or a civilian, but it's not true. We _do _treat a case differently if it's one of our own. It's the same with the Armed Forces. The bond is greater with your buddies than with a non-combatant."

"I don't want to play the gender card here, but Jules is a woman," Wordy offered tactfully. "Psychologically speaking, she makes an easier, more appealing target."

Greg felt an uncomfortable stirring in the pit of his stomach. He felt as if the answer as to why Jules had been targeted was there, just beyond his reach; elusive. But instead of finding the answer, he was floundering around in the dark.

"Our hostage-takers had to have known we'd never give up those drugs, and we're not exposing Donna Sabine to those crazies," Ed said. "They've made an impossible demand, and they know it. What do they stand to gain by any of this?"

"Embarrassing us, for one thing," Greg replied. "A life for a life? We killed Cardoza, so they kill one of us?"

"If that's the kind of message they want to send, they'd have killed Jules by now," Ed commented, offering the silent hope that his team member was still among the living.

"Do you think they _know_ Donna's the one that killed Cardoza?" Wordy asked.

Greg turned a stern eye towards the larger man. "I hope not. I mean, this is the whole reason our names are kept out of press releases when something like that happens: to prevent retribution."

"Sure didn't help in Ed's case," Sam observed drily.

Ed Lane's brow creased, and his mouth tightened at the memory of the young man who'd sought to avenge his father's death, for which Ed had been responsible. He tried not to show his annoyance that Sam had dredged up all the unpleasant memories for him, and had to remind himself he owed the former Special Forces soldier his life. However, Ed still carried the guilt that Jules had nearly died when Petar shot her, and knew he would carry it for a long time to come.

Wordy was shaking his head. "Where's it going to end? Are we always going to be worried some nut case is going to want to get back at us when we do our jobs?!"

Greg sent Wordy a sympathetic look. "We're going to get Jules back," he said forcefully. "I'm going to recommend that Team Three lay low. These creeps have obviously been watching us. They could still be watching. If they somehow found out Donna was involved with Cardoza's death, I'm not risking putting her and her team in harm's way."

"Boss," Lou interrupted, "I've got something for you."

"Go ahead, Lou." Greg said.

"First of all, we got a hit on the picture Wordy sent out. Guns and Gangs identified him as one Luis Marquez, and he's a known member of _Huesos de Tigres._ Guns also told us that another member, named Reynaldo Villalobos, made bail _today._"

"Today!" Greg exclaimed.

"He was one of the punks we arrested at the Viper. That's just great," Ed said, voice full of sarcasm. "We pick 'em up, and the damn lawyers get 'em back out again."

"They've issued an APB for Marquez," Lou continued, "and they're going to try to track down Villalobos, too. 'Wanted for Questioning'."

"Well, Villalobos can't have gone too far, I hope," Greg said optimistically.

"That's not all," Lou said. "Inspector Chevalier said that from what they've been able to determine, after Oscar Cardoza died, the remaining members of _Huesos de Tigres _that we didn't round up that day at the Viper have picked up where they left off, and apparently under new leadership."

"Yeah... 'new leadership' that wants to settle a score," was Greg's glum reply.

"Sarge, I've got something for you, too," Spike spoke up in his usual hurried fashion. "I've traced ownership of the Trance nightclub to what I'm willing to bet is a dummy corporation. Owners actually filed tax returns to keep it legit on paper, but the business hasn't been running for months. I checked other records and found that the building had been closed by the city because it wasn't up to code."

"Yeah, these gangs try to appear to be legitimate businesses. It's how they launder their money," Greg said matter-of-factly. "They'll pay their business taxes, and keep fancy lawyers on retainer...probably how that Villalobos guy made bail."

"The Trance is in a pretty rough neighborhood," Spike continued. "Perfect place to hide a kidnapped constable. If we move in on them, we'd need to be full-on stealth approach for sure. It's enemy territory, and we'd stick out like a sore thumb."

"Duly noted," Greg said. "Gentlemen, I think it's time to work on a plan of attack."

* * *

Jules was fighting exhaustion and a wicked headache that she knew was due to hunger, coupled with the blow she'd received to the back of her head.

She'd once again been left alone after relaying the message to Greg on the phone. Her captors had left for God knew where, and Jules wondered if and when they'd return.

Elena had stretched a new piece of duct tape across Jules' mouth before she'd left, adding to her discomfort.

Hearing the concern in Greg's voice was both a source of comfort and torment. He was worried for her life, and Jules knew it. She hated that her present predicament was causing her team to suffer. For her own sake, though, she knew that she couldn't allow herself to slip into despair. Greg's words echoed in her mind, especially the ones assuring her that everything would be okay, and that they wouldn't allow her to die. She focused on that, hoping that her friend was right.

She presently heard several approaching footfalls. The overhead light snapped on, and Jules again squinted at the brightness.

Elena was back with Reynaldo, and two others. One of the latter two had a large, ugly bandage plastered over his nose. He was sending dark looks in Jules' direction.

_You must be the one whose nose I broke earlier today,_ Jules thought. She felt a small spark of satisfaction that she really _had_ broken it; that she'd put up a pretty good fight against the overwhelming odds.

Then something else caught Jules' eye that made her breath catch in her throat.

Reynaldo and the other man whose name she didn't know, were carrying an object that Jules instantly identified as a bomb. It was crude-looking, but from the components that were visible, she knew it was no mere smoke bomb.

The two men set it down in one of the corners on the concrete floor, while Elena sidled up beside her. Jules bristled at the presence of the other woman.

"As you can see," Elena started to say, "we have brought something down here to keep you company. While I am now quite convinced you had nothing to do with the murder of Oscar Cardoza, you are still guilty by association, as are all your police friends. You will die, Jules Callaghan, along with the rest of them when they arrive to 'rescue' you."

Elena squeezed Jules' shoulder, and then made for the door. The young man with the bandaged nose hesitated, and remained where he was, still staring at Jules.

"Enrique," Elena barked, "_vamos!_"

Enrique made what sounded like a verbal protest in Spanish. Elena looked between him and Jules, then merely gave a curt nod in reply. She left the small room with Reynaldo and the other unnamed man close behind.

The young man with the broken nose, whom Jules now knew was named 'Enrique', grinned broadly. It was the type of grin, however, that struck a chord of panic in Jules. She saw him flex his hands open and closed a few times. Then Enrique balled his right hand into a tight fist, approached Jules, and without warning, struck her squarely in the face.

A disconcerting, crunching sound met her ears. Instant and involuntary tears coursed down her cheeks. From the sudden, terrible flush of pain she was experiencing, Jules was quite sure Enrique had just exacted a reprisal. She barely heard his retreating footsteps, so focused was she on how much she was hurting.

_He broke my nose! _Jules thought in shock and anger. She could feel a bloody discharge streaming from her nostrils. Jules forced herself to take slow, careful breaths, willing herself to calm down and mentally block the pain.

Her chest was starting to ache as her oxygen-starved lungs screamed for a deeper intake of air, but Jules knew she couldn't risk it. With her mouth still taped shut, she knew that she'd have to rely on her damaged nose until she was rescued. She only prayed that her sinuses wouldn't swell shut, or that too much blood would clot, sealing off her nostrils. Every attempted breath was painful, and for a few tense moments, she was afraid she might aspirate on her own blood, or suffocate.

Eventually, the pain ebbed to a dull, throbbing ache. Her eyes dried, and the flow of blood from her nose petered out. She was thankful that the right side of her nasal passages somehow remained open and clear enough for a decent flow of air. Jules could feel the blood coagulating and crusting on her chin, and the itchy sensation was starting to irritate her.

She started wondering which she hated more: the pain of her broken nose, or an itch she was unable to scratch.

Then with a flash of terror, she remembered the bomb.

* * *

Luis Marquez was enjoying himself immensely. Hiding among the curious on-lookers, he was watching every move Team Four was making. One member was controlling a large, ungainly-looking robot. Luis decided this must be on older model compared to the one used by the team that handled the Union Station situation earlier in the day. _That_ had really been one sleek piece of engineering and machinery. Luis silently wished he'd had more time to look at that one, but his boss had wanted him to move on to his present objective.

He knew the time had come, though, to put an end to it. Luis squeezed through several bodies that were closed in around him until he was free of them all. He walked for a few blocks, until he was sure he was completely out of sight of any prying eyes. From one of his pockets he removed a cell phone that was intended for one purpose only. He flipped it open, and dialed a sequence of numbers.

The awed reaction of the crowd reached his ears, and Luis knew that he'd just successfully set off his third smoke bomb. Even though he felt a high, Luis was disappointed he hadn't been allowed to use something with a little more 'kick' for this latest bomb.

His spirits picked up, though, as he remembered they were now approaching the final phase of their plan. It was time to return to the old Trance nightclub, where the _real_ fireworks awaited.

* * *

**A/N: It was pointed out by an individual that my Spanish required some correcting. While I'm no native Spanish-speaker, I can assure that individual that '_vamos_' is the informal version of '_vamanos_', meaning 'let us go'. I would not have written it thus if I had not done my research. Thank you for your comments, one and all. **


	6. Chapter 6

6.

The two metro police Media Relations Officers, constables April Sloane and Geoffrey Mah, found themselves inundated with a flurry of calls from several media outlets. Reporters were clamoring for details regarding the story that had been broken by the CJYT news desk.

With the public attention already focused on the bomb threats, this new development in the story was creating a new wave of interest in the case.

Constables Sloane and Mah did not identify Jules as the kidnapped constable, but were permitted to state that the kidnapping and bombings were indeed being investigated. Over and over they had to tell nosy reporters that nothing more would be released due to the on-going nature of said investigation. They also adamantly refused to comment on any details regarding the shooting death of Oscar Cardoza, including information about who had actually killed him.

In spite of these precautions, diligent investigative reporters were already accessing information about the named Oscar Cardoza, and were compiling a profile of him and his gang connections prior to his death. In short order, the public was being reminded of the hostage-taking at the Viper nightclub, and the failed bank robbery that had preceded it.

The inevitable debates about gang violence and the inability of the police to curb gang activities were reignited, and instantly became the topic of the hour on talk radio shows and news breaks throughout the city.

Public sentiment was not on the side of the men and women in police uniform, as evidenced by the angry rhetoric of citizens expressing their outrage on any forum that allowed them to vent:

"_They expect us to think they can protect and serve the public. Sure. They can't even protect one of their own!"_

"_Is this where our taxpayer money is going? To a police force that's totally impotent in getting a handle on organized crime? Heads are gonna roll for this one, that's for sure"._

"_I was one of those thousands of TTC customers inconvenienced while that SWAT team sorted out the bomb scare at Union Station earlier today... You know, they're just like stereotypical cops. I saw a couple of them sitting in their van, sipping their Tim Hortons double-doubles* like it was nothing. All of Toronto could be burning down, but hey, as long as you got your Timmie's coffee and doughnuts, it's all good, right? Shame on you all!"_

_

* * *

  
_

**SRU HEADQUARTERS – _Team Three_**

"So we just _sit here_ and do nothing, while bombs go off all over the city, and while Callaghan remains at the mercy of God knows who?" Constable Bobby Drake groused loudly, venting his own outrage and frustrations. He was more than annoyed they'd been called in on their off day, only to be told they'd be riding the bench. If he was going to have his day interrupted, then he wanted action.

Sergeant Nate Hanson nodded. "That's exactly what we're going to do," he replied calmly. He sent a quick glance in Donna's direction before continuing: "I just had a chat with Sergeant Greg Parker. We're not taking any chances with this one. If this gang is looking to avenge the death of this Cardoza goon, we both agree it's best for this team to stay out of the picture."

"Because Donna killed Cardoza," Drake stated.

"Yes," Hanson said. "We don't know what information this gang has. They already knew some pretty specific details about a drug bust in Parkdale about ten days ago. For all we know, they also know about Donna's role in Cardoza's death."

Donna tried to keep a lid on the emotional turmoil brewing inside. _I'm the one those thugs want_... _Jules had absolutely nothing to do with any of this. _Plagued with guilt, she felt a sudden chill and hugged her arms around herself.

_If Huesos de Tigres know I did it, why didn't they come after _me_?_

"I should have been the one they grabbed," Donna said morosely, looking back at her new team sergeant. "I can certainly appreciate that Sergeant Parker doesn't want to involve me; gangs like this operate without a shred of pity or remorse. They kill whether they get what they want or not. As head of _Huesos de Tigres_, Oscar Cardoza was going to shoot a pregnant woman when her poor husband failed to steal half a million for them from an internet bank."

She saw the looks of disgust on the faces of her teammates at this unsavoury piece of information.

"I'm _not_ sorry I killed him, but I am sorry that Jules Callaghan is suffering because of it," Donna said. She thought of the other female member of the Strategic Response Unit. They'd only met briefly on the fateful day she'd shot Cardoza. Even though they shared a locker room, their shifts didn't co-incide, and thus rarely saw each other enough to talk.

"If Team One doesn't get to her before 6 PM... I hate to say it, but she's as good as dead. And it should be me."

"I don't suppose it would do any good to say this isn't your fault, would it?" Sergeant Hanson asked.

"No, it wouldn't," Donna replied with a sad shake of her head. "I feel so _helpless_! I feel like I should _be there_, helping Team One get her back."

"And what good would that do?" Hanson rebutted. "You said it yourself, Sabine: this gang kills regardless of whether or not they get what they want. No way in hell am I going to permit you to go anywhere near them. That'd be tantamount to committing suicide."

With a heavy sigh, Donna knew she had to concede Nate Hanson's point. "So, what now? Am I going to be under protection or something until this is resolved?"

"Sergeant Parker and I didn't get that far in our discussion," Hanson admitted, "but now that you mention it, that actually wouldn't be a bad idea."

"But... How would that affect my duties on the team?" she asked carefully, worried that she'd be forced to give up her newly-earned spot on Team Three after all she'd fought for. Even if it was for a short period of time, the thought of being placed on an inactive roster was extremely galling.

"I don't see why it should affect your job," Nate Hanson replied. "You'd be with the rest of us on calls during shifts. I don't know how you all worked things in Vice, but around here, we watch each others' backs."

"Okay, good," Donna said, relieved at this answer.

"I'd be happy to help with watch duty if Constable Sabine needs it," another Team Three member named Colin Larson offered. He was a bear of a man, and reminded Donna a little of Constable Kevin 'Wordy' Wordsworth.

"Me, too," Bobby Drake piped up. The rest of the Team Three unit also expressed their desire to help out.

"Thanks, guys," Donna said appreciatively. She saw empathy in the faces of her new teammates, and felt a growing sense of comradeship. They understood how she felt about the whole affair, and it was a real comfort knowing she wasn't alone.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Hanson said. "We don't want to borrow trouble. This thing is still in motion, and we're four hours away from six o'clock. There's still time for Parker's team to resolve this successfully."

"If we can't be out there helping Team One, let's do some legwork from here," Donna suggested. "You said something about _Heusos de Tigres_ knowing details about a drug bust from ten days ago, right? Well, drug busts just happened to be my specialty before I joined the SRU."

* * *

Greg Parker pocketed his cell phone. "Okay, guys," he said, "Winnie just confirmed that Team Four was dealing with another smoke bomb. No injuries were reported when it went off, but still no Luis Marquez, or Reynaldo Villalobos. Team Three is staying put at headquarters for now. Nate Hanson says they're going to be watching out for Constable Sabine in case _Huesos de Tigres_ have been tipped off that she killed Cardoza."

"What about the news leak?" Ed asked.

"Yeah, investigators are following up with CJYT to see if they can track down the source of that e-mail the producer received. But we're not going to be waiting to see if anything materializes out of that," Greg answered. "Jules is counting on us to get her out alive, and I don't intend to let her down."

"Boss, I did some more digging on the Trance club ownership thing," Spike said. "Looks like our old buddy, Oscar Cardoza was on the list, but after he died, sole possession in that dummy corporation passed to some woman named Elena Moreno. I've asked our friends at Vice and Guns and Gangs if they know anything about her; still waiting for them to get back to me on that."

"Fine," Greg said, knowing the time had come for action. "We roll down to the Trance now. As we all know, we could be walking into a trap. They've already shown they're adept at rigging simple explosives, so it's not a leap in logic to think that they also know how to rig the real deal."

Ed commented further: "With such unacceptable demands as they've made, it's clear they have nothing to lose. These guys aren't the type we 'negotiate' with. Our only solution if we want to save Jules is to get to her before they can kill her."

"You all have your assignments," Greg said. "Let's make sure we resolve this thing quietly. You know one of my mottoes: let's stay off the news."

He was answered with nods from his team as they moved off to their assigned vehicles.

* * *

Dale Draper sat in his car, which was parked a block away from SRU Headquarters. He reflected on how things had escalated beyond what he'd anticipated.

_One little error,_ he thought bitterly, _and things get out of hand._

He knew he was walking a fine line by accepting bribes from criminals for information about the inner workings of his department. The risk of being found out was ever-present, and Dale always watched his back carefully. In fact, from the moment he learned of his assignment to undercover duty, he'd been suspicious of every member of the Vice unit. And when Donna Sabine told him of her recommendation, his suspicions were confirmed. He was being watched, and he knew it, so he was cautious about every move he made.

One risk Dale hadn't been willing to take was when Elena Moreno had wanted the file on Oscar Cardoza's death. When he further probed the reasons behind the request, Dale learned of Elena's vendetta. But accessing that case file meant he would have had to go directly to SRU to request it, and he could think of no plausible reason to do such a thing. His presence there and the unusual nature of such a request would have raised too many questions.

So in the interest of protecting himself, Dale recalled how he decided that it would be safest to reveal the barest of details.

"_It's the female,"_ Dale remembered telling Elena in one phone conversation, _"and there's_ _only_ one_ female on the Strategic Response Unit teams."_

It was an innocent enough comment. Had anyone been listening to his end of the conversation, they would have thought little of it.

Of course, Dale had also later supplied Elena with the Parkdale investigation details, as it was one of the busts he'd been involved with. He'd been rewarded handsomely for that information, even though he wasn't quite clear what possible use Elena would have for the information.

The bomb threats were an inspired idea by Elena, Dale had to admit. The plan to draw out the SRU teams until they spotted the lone female would certainly have worked, if Jules Callaghan hadn't returned to duty. It was really the luck of the draw, and Dale knew that if _Team Three_ had answered the call on the streetcar the previous day, none of this would be happening.

Now, sitting in his car, picturing Donna Sabine inside SRU Headquarters safely surrounded by her teammates, Dale again cursed his poor timing. He now knew he should simply have given Elena Donna's name and description in the first place, and left it at that, risks notwithstanding.

_But _no_, you had to play it safe!_ Dale berated himself. _You had to be all cryptic. And now you have a big, stinking mess to clean up._

He drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.

_Come on, Donna,_ he grumbled silently, _show yourself._ _The bomb threats are over. They should be sending you and your team home now that the focus is on rescuing Callaghan... _

Dale willed the former Vice unit constable's vehicle to leave the SRU parking lot, but in the half-hour he'd already spent waiting, Donna's red Miata had not yet made an appearance.

_Well, you have to leave sometime, _he reasoned, _and when you do, I'll be ready for you._

* * *

Team One approached their destination without lights and sirens to announce their presence. Constable Scarlatti had indeed been correct about the neighbourhood the Trance nightclub called home. It was in a seedy, depressed area of town, filled with run-down, derelict buildings, boarded-up businesses and a few homeless and forgotten members of society.

"We should work this one like we worked the job over at the Viper," Ed had suggested during the planning stages. "We'll check for any sentries, then gain access from the roof."

Building plans for the Trance that Spike had pulled up indicated a potential entrance point from a rooftop patio, which they fully intended to exploit.

Greg had nodded in agreement. Even though he hadn't been a part of the action at the Viper nightclub so many weeks ago, he knew from the case report and de-brief that Ed, Wordy and Donna had successfully breached the building from that club's rooftop.

Team One parked their vehicles a couple streets away from the Trace nightclub building behind a wall that was covered with graffiti and a multitude of gang tags.

Greg recounted their plan of action: "Sam, you're Sierra; Lou, you're my second. Ed, Wordy and Spike: be careful. When you get in there, I want you to be on the lookout especially for any incendiary devices. Like I said earlier, these guys know their way around explosives."

Lou immediately started recording the unfolding events using the voice-recognition software, noting their arrival times, and the movements of all the team members.

The roads here were not well-maintained, and trash collected in dirty piles everywhere. There was not a soul in sight this afternoon, and a strange stillness permeated the sad excuse for a neighbourhood.

_The calm before the storm_, Ed thought, as he lowered his binoculars from his eyes. He'd just been focused on the roof of the Trance, and was satisfied when he determined no one was up there who might detect their approach.

Likewise, a patrol of the perimeter by Wordy, Sam and Spike brought news that the place was completely unguarded. That, of course, did not mean the interior of the building was likewise devoid of occupancy.

Ed, Sam, Spike and Wordy pulled a couple ladders out of the trucks to assist in scaling the walls.

"Okay, guys, haul your butts up there. You get in, get Jules, and get out," Greg commanded. "We're coming up on our deadline. If they're expecting we're actually going to make the trades they demanded, they've got another thing coming."

Greg wondered not for the first time what they'd do if Jules wasn't here. The voice of the _Huesos de Tigres _member remained in his head; that mocking tone causing him to grit his teeth. There hadn't been any more calls urging Greg to meet their demands, or threatening more bombs. That silence from Jules' captors didn't bode well for her survival, but Greg didn't want to ponder such a grim outcome yet.

The Trance was in a state of disrepair. The entrance that had once been two glass doors was now covered with rotting pieces of board. Several windows were broken, but they hadn't been covered with wood. What was once a sign proclaiming 'Trance' in bold, flashing neon light, was smashed and permanently out of commission. The exterior walls were originally finished in a rainbow of swirling, psychedelic colours, but like the other buildings in the vicinity, were now covered with crude, spray-painted slogans and illegible scrawl.

The four SRU constables quickly ascended the ladder rungs, and Sam took up watch on the roof, rifle in hand. The other three breached the patio door entrance with ease, as only a flimsy piece of board covered the gaping space where a door used to be.

"We're inside," Ed whispered into his mouthpiece.

'Inside' was dim and musty. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, an indication that nobody had been up to this part of the building in some time. They tramped down the hall which led to a sort of balcony that overlooked a large dance floor. Afternoon light filtered through broken windows, and the constables could see that down below, there were several doors that led to what must have at one time been private, VIP rooms.

Wordy, Spike and Ed carefully walked down a spiral staircase to the ground level, and thoroughly checked each of those rooms one by one, declaring each one to be disappointingly empty.

"Clear!" they called out several times, and Greg started wondering if they'd been duped. If no one was here at this dilapidated building that ought to be condemned, then he was starting to fear Jules was lost forever.

Finally, the threesome descended another set of stairs into the basement suite. The hall at the bottom was dark and narrow. Again, they systematically checked each room they encountered, mentally counting off the ones they'd memorized from the building plans Spike had found.

_Find her, find her, find her,_ Greg pleaded from his spot in the truck as he watched the red dots representing his team on the monitor as they moved about the basement.

One final room remained.

"Well, if she's here, this is the last place she could be," Ed declared.

"Understood, Eddie," Greg replied, feeling the mounting tension. "Then let's hope she's there, okay?"

"On three," Ed commanded Wordy and Spike.

He counted down in hushed tones, and on 'one', Wordy barreled towards the closed door, and busted through it without resistance, followed by Ed and Spike.

"SRU! Don't move!" Ed called out with a loud, commanding voice. He rushed inside, brandishing his MP5.

The room, however, was in total darkness, and Spike fished for the light switch. He found it, and the room was suddenly bathed in a harsh light from a bulb that was dangling directly over a small, hunched figure. That figure was bound to a wooden chair in the middle of the room.

"Jules!" Wordy yelled in recognition.

His heart sank at the sight of his team mate. Her nose was a mess; bruised and bloodied. A hand-shaped welt stood out on one of her cheeks. He hurried over to her, dismayed at her pathetic appearance.

"We found her, Boss, but no one else is here," Ed informed Greg.

"How is she?" Greg asked anxiously.

"How's she doing, Wordy?" Ed asked, repeating his sergeant's question.

Wordy felt a weight leave his chest when he confirmed she had a pulse and was still breathing. Fury replaced pity, and Wordy gave free rein to his imagination, dreaming up of all sorts of ways he'd punish those responsible for harming Jules.

"She's alive!" Wordy said in a voice that reflected his relief.

Greg Parker let go the breath he'd been holding and exchanged his own look of relief with Lou, who whispered a silent prayer of thanks at the good news.

* * *

Sam's spirits had soared when he heard they'd found Jules alive. He was still perched on the rooftop, rifle at the ready, keeping an eye out for any movement of their enemy. He allowed that moment's worth of elation to fill his soul, then went right back to focusing on his mission which wouldn't be over until Greg told him to stand down.

* * *

Jules snapped out of her semi-conscious state. Her head felt like a block of concrete, and her aching nose like it was stuffed with steel wool. In fact, pain radiated all over her face, and she knew she probably looked quite awful.

Wordy's voice had roused her, and it took her a few seconds to really register that her friends had come. At once she remembered the imminent danger of the bomb. She let out a muffled scream, bobbing her head furiously at the bomb in the corner of the small room. But Spike had already noticed it, and was giving it the once-over.

"We got a problem," Spike said grimly. "It's definitely a bomb, and I can tell you it's no smoke bomb, either."

"Then let's get Jules outta here _now,_" Ed said gruffly.

Wordy reached out and gently peeled away the duct tape from Jules' mouth.

"Mmmph..." she mumbled. "Ow...ouch..."

"Sorry," Wordy whispered, and winced sympathetically.

Ed, meanwhile, set about slicing away the tape around her wrists and ankles. Wordy gave her a few moments to catch herself and steady her nerves before they tried to move her. She took several deep gulps of air, grateful that her mouth had been freed.

"Jules, are you okay?" Ed asked.

"Yeah," she breathed, sounding stuffy; tongue heavy and unresponsive, "but I think my nose is broken...You have no idea how glad I am to see you guys! I was so terrified when they set that bomb down. They just left it there and took off. Is it as bad as I think it is?"

"This thing has a lot of similar components to the earlier smoke bomb we saw at Union," Spike said. "I think it's also set up to be triggered by a cell phone signal."

"Well, you're not going to hang around long enough to find out," Greg communicated to them. "Get Jules, and get the hell out of there!"

_It _was_ a trap,_ Greg thought. _They lured us here and were going to blow us to kingdom come when we went in to get Jules._ It bothered him, though, that there was no sign of any members of the gang either inside or outside the Trance. Surely someone must be monitoring them if they'd gone through the trouble of planting a bomb...

* * *

Up on the roof, Sam crept along the ledge silently. Something had caught his eye down below. Someone, or something, was trying to remain concealed in the shadows of a decrepit alley. Sam frowned. He raised his rifle and tried to get a better look through his scope.

"Just spotted something in an alley," he advised Greg. "Attempting to confirm..."

* * *

Wordy looked at Jules. "You ready? You feel okay to be moved now?"

She nodded her assent.

"Okay, here we go," Wordy said, and he gently scooped her up over his shoulder and held onto her protectively.

"Uh-oh," Spike said urgently from the corner in the basement. "This thing just came to life! Someone's dialed in the code to arm it!"

"Then let's move; now!" Ed cried.

* * *

Using the scope, Sam focused on what he now realised was a young man. Sam zeroed in on his face, and with instant recall, brought to mind the image Wordy had pulled from the TTC security footage. Sam Braddock knew without a doubt he was looking at Luis Marquez.

Sam didn't waste a second.

He took aim and squeezed the trigger.

Luis Marquez screamed in agony as a large portion of his right hand disintegrated - along with pieces of the cell phone that would have triggered a very deadly explosion in the basement of the Trance nightclub.

* * *

*A _Tim Hortons_ 'double-double' is coffee containing two creams and sugars from the _Tim Hortons_ franchise that is well-known in Canada; a brand also affectionately known as 'Timmies'.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Deepest apologies for the delay in updating. I have to admit that I caught a serious plot oversight, and had to stop and re-write. This changed the whole complexion of the chapter, but didn't actually change much of the spirit of what I wanted to accomplish. That said, please enjoy. **

When emergency medical services finally responded to the incident, Luis Marquez had already lost a lot of blood, and was nearly overcome with pain. His initial screams had gradually decreased in volume, and he'd been reduced to groans, grunts and whimpers, interspersed with a few profanity-laden words for the SRU constables.

Sam Braddock knew that due to his actions this afternoon, his very near future would include a mandatory review by the civilian Special Investigations Unit. He had every confidence that he'd be cleared of any wrongdoing, and had no qualms whatsoever about his quick decision to disable Marquez. The cell phone the gang member had been holding was designed to be a remote detonator, and as such, was just as deadly as any weapon. Sam assured himself that he'd averted disaster, because Marquez had not succeeded in dialing the rest of the code to trigger the bomb in the basement of the Trance.

Best of all, Jules Callaghan was _safe_.

She'd received extremely relieved welcomes from Lou, Sam and Greg once she'd emerged from the Trance building, still being carried by Constable Wordsworth. As soon as she was able, she gave an account of everything she remembered of her ordeal, from descriptions of her captors to names she overheard.

"It was really strange," she recalled as she spoke with Sergeant Parker. "The woman – 'Elena' – in the beginning, she looked like she was ready to kill me. Then later, this new guy arrived, and he took one look at me, and they had a pretty heated argument. His name was 'Reynaldo'."

Greg nodded slightly. This was confirming what they'd found out about Oscar Cardoza's gang and business connections.

"After that," Jules continued, "Elena said something like she was quite sure I had nothing to do with the murder of Oscar Cardoza... Boss, does anybody have any idea who really killed him?"

"Your fill-in," Greg replied. "Constable Sabine took him out that day you were cleared to return to active duty."

"Oh...wow," Jules said, pausing contemplatively. "Ouch. That can't have been an easy thing for her to deal with...being so new and all..."

Greg shrugged. "It was a justifiable kill. SIU cleared her, and we got the hostage out safely. But Jules, do you remember anything else that might be important about your time with these guys?"

"Well, at one point, Elena made a phone call to someone, and she spoke in English," Jules answered. "She yelled at him, like: _'You told me it was the female', _ and something about Reynaldo being there when '_it_' happened. By 'it', I'm guessing they mean when Cardoza was shot..."

"Yeah, sounds like it," Greg agreed, "go on."

"She also talked about the police file of the incident," Jules said, "that the person on the other end of the conversation should have just pulled it for her, and that she was paying him for information. Sarge, that's got to mean there's a mole inside the department. I think the only reason they didn't end up killing me is that they _know _Constable Sabine shot Cardoza. I mean, they probably thought it was _me_ from the start, until the Reynaldo guy couldn't I.D. me. Then they just used me as bait to lure you guys here... they're probably going after _her_ now."

"We've already taken precautions on that one," Greg said, allaying Jules' fears. "Team Three is looking out for Donna right now. If _Huesos de Tigres_ try to make a move, they won't get too far."

"Good," Jules said, relieved. "Thanks for coming for me, Sarge. There were some moments in there when I didn't think I'd see any of you again."

Greg gave her a gentle hug, and a soothing pat on the back. "Hey, you're _family,_" he said, "of course we came after you." He pulled back and looked at her battered face. "Here... EMS is ready for you now. Get that pretty nose of yours checked out."

As Jules had suspected, her nose was indeed broken. The paramedic treating her also recommended a hospital visit in order to be sure her head injury wasn't serious.

Jules screwed up her face in an expression of distaste. _I'm finally free of hospitals, and now you want to send me back? I don't think so!_ "You're kidding right?" she groaned. "C'mon, I may be tired, hungry, and a little banged-up, but I'm fine. Just get my nose bandaged and let me go home."

"I'd rather be safe than sorry, Constable," the paramedic patiently explained to Jules, ignoring her protest. "You yourself admitted you lost consciousness, and that's a pretty big lump back there. I'd just like for a doctor to rule out concussion."

Resigned to her fate, Jules obediently climbed onto the stretcher in the back of the ambulance. Sam, Wordy and Spike saw her off, with promises that they'd stop by to visit after their debriefing. As the ambulance departed, Greg shared with the team what Jules had related about her time in captivity.

Meanwhile, Luis Marquez was already en route to hospital in serious condition. Sergeant Parker knew it would be several hours, at least, before medical staff would allow him to be questioned about his role in whatever game plan his partners in crime were attempting to execute. A cruiser had accompanied the ambulance, with instructions that Marquez be restrained and kept under police watch around the clock, at least until doctors allowed him to be transferred to a more secure location.

Greg had hoped to be able to get answers out of him immediately, but knew it wouldn't be possible. Marquez would be under heavy sedation, and when he got to hospital, undergoing surgery. From the looks of things, Greg figured the gang member was going to be facing amputation of what was remaining of his right hand.

It was obvious to all of Team One that Marquez was not intelligent enough to have planned and executed everything that had happened. Clearly, he was just a low-level gang member, albeit one adept at building bombs.

The fact that _only_ Marquez had been apprehended in the vicinity of the Trance meant that the remaining members of _Huesos de Tigres_ were still out there, somewhere.

Presently, members from the Scenes of Crime Section were collecting evidence, and one of the Peel Region bomb squads was assessing the bomb left behind in the basement.

Team One offered their cooperation where it was needed. They knew much of their work was now over. Jules was safe, so the task of completing the investigation into her kidnapping would be handed over to Division Detectives. They would actively pursue a case against Luis Marquez for his role in her unlawful confinement, as well as his involvement in the bomb threats.

Of course, that did not mean that the SRU still didn't have an _un-official_ interest in the investigation.

"Hey, Sarge!" Lou called out to Greg just as he'd finished speaking with an officer in Forensic Identification Services.

"What's up, Lou?" Greg asked, as he climbed into the truck.

"I just heard back from Guns and Gangs. They shared with me some intel they've uncovered about Elena Moreno."

"Enlighten me," Greg said encouragingly.

"She's big-time bad news," Lou answered, by way of introduction.

By this time, Spike, Sam, Ed and Wordy had joined them, and it was getting crowded in the truck. They were all interested in what Lou had to say, knowing that the 'Elena' Jules had referred to and 'Elena Moreno' were obviously one and the same.

"Inspector Chevalier says Immigration noted Elena Moreno's arrival into the country three weeks ago," Lou informed the team. "She came in on a Continental flight from Bogota, Colombia, directly into Pearson. Records show she's a naturalized Canadian, but this is the first time she's actually been here in two years."

"Three weeks ago, huh?" Greg mused. "That's just after Oscar Cardoza bit the dust."

"Well, like Spike found out earlier, they did share ownership of the Trance," Lou said, "but that's not all... Chevalier said there's a lot of rumour and speculation surrounding Elena Moreno; none of it good."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, I'll bet! You associate with creeps like Cardoza, no way you're clean."

Lou continued: "Elena Moreno's got 'business interests' in Colombia, and is regarded as being a very powerful, wealthy woman. She dabbles in politics, and while she doesn't seem to have any aspirations of her own, she's financially backed some movers and shakers down there. There's never been any solid evidence, but it's believed the source of much of her personal wealth is drug money."

"It definitely fits," Ed said uncomfortably. "Colombia's a hot-spot for the drug trade. Moreno's business dealings here have all the hallmarks of an international drug cartel's money-laundering scheme."

"That's not all," Lou said. "I mentioned she's been involved with politics down there... well, when Inspector Chevalier spoke of her financial backing of political movers and shakers, he said she was suspected of being involved in political assassinations, that is, being the brains _and_ the funding behind them. What's more, about five years ago, her _husband_ disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Police never found anything concrete to link her to it, but rumour has it _she_ had the guy killed."

Constable Wordsworth let out a low whistle.

"Nasty," Spike observed.

"Elena Moreno is responsible for all of this," Ed commented, as if it were a foregone conclusion. "She's the reason Jules was kidnapped; the bombs and threats, all of it. She might not have done it all herself, but it's obvious she knows how to exert her will."

"The problem is we can't quite prove it yet," Greg said. "Something tells me Luis Marquez will be too afraid to point the finger at her. If half of what we've discovered about Elena Moreno is true... if Marquez values his life, he'll keep his mouth shut and take the fall for everything."

"Hal Chevalier says they're going to be coordinating with these Division Detectives here to bring those responsible to justice," Lou said. "Elena Moreno has just shot to the top of that list, along with that Reynaldo Villalobos character."

"_And _the rest of those members of _Heusos de Tigres_ we didn't grab at the Viper, I'll bet," Spike said.

"_And_ nobody has any clue where they are of course," Ed said sardonically.

"They didn't get what they wanted, which was most likely revenge," Greg countered, philosophically. "Plus, their explosives man is out of commission, so I don't think we'll be seeing any more bomb threats. We've got 'em on the run. They don't have any more leverage."

"If they're smart, they'll get the hell out of 'Dodge'," Spike added. "The heat's on them now. I mean, every cop in the city is looking out for them."

"Right. And our job here is done, guys," Greg said to his team. "We got Jules out safe; one of the perps is in custody, and Team Three's watching out for Donna. I figure it's time we go home, huh?"

A chorus of jubilant 'yeahs' came back in reply, and Team One packed up their gear and prepared to return to SRU Headquarters, where they'd debrief.

* * *

Dale Draper snapped his phone shut in anger. He could feel perspiration building on his brow, and his face felt hot as he wiped at the moisture with his bare hand.

Elena Moreno had called again, demanding an accounting of his actions and whereabouts. He'd had to answer that Donna Sabine still hadn't exited the SRU building, and Elena had hung up in disgust.

_Donna Sabine_.

This was all _her_ fault! Draper felt his stomach clench and his temper reach boiling point. He hadn't realised up until then how much he really hated her. _If_ she hadn't been so bent on getting into the 'cool pants'; _if_ she hadn't moved on to Team Three, _if, if, if..._

_Conniving, two-faced bitch_, he thought. _Pretending to be all supportive when really you've been plotting against me all along with Scott Wallen... You probably don't even know that I'm on to you and that I know you've been trying to catch me slipping up. Well, too bad, but that's not going to happen._

The second he saw her leaving the SRU compound, Dale was determined he was not going to fail in his mission as planned by Elena Moreno. The payoff for this one would be particularly sweet, and not just in monetary terms.

In fact, Dale was pretty sure he'd have agreed to be a part of this one for free.

He looked up from his dashboard and finally saw what he'd been waiting for: The tell-tale profile of Donna Sabine's Mazda pulling out of the SRU compound, taillights shining in the dusky evening shadows.

The V8 engine in his Dodge Charger R/T roared to life. He flipped his cell phone open and dialled a familiar number.

Elena Moreno answered, just as he expected her to.

"She's on the move," Dale said. "Are you ready?"

"Are _you_?" Elena shot back testily, as if he dared question her readiness. She ended the call before he could answer. Dale Draper ignored the put-down, and cautiously pulled out onto the street. He started tailing the Miata, which was already disappearing up ahead in the midst of the late, rush-hour traffic. It didn't matter, though. He wanted to remain as concealed as possible so that Donna wouldn't suspect she was being followed.

Dale could feel the corners of his mouth curling up into a satisfied grin. _Soon..._ Soon he'd make things right by Elena by helping her quench her thirst for vengeance, which dovetailed nicely with his own desire for revenge.

He followed the Miata on to the 401, where traffic was finally beginning to fall off, as most commuters were already safely home. Still, he kept some distance, maintaining a four or five-car buffer between him and the one he was pursuing. He knew Donna lived in the Agincourt neighbourhood, located in the suburb of Scarborough. Their eastern course indicated to him she was probably heading home. At that point, he called in another update to Elena.

"Looks like she's on her way home," he said, when Elena answered. He returned his attention to the road, and saw he was travelling part of the stretch of the 401 dubbed the 'Highway of Heroes', in honour of those fallen members of the Armed Forces fighting in Afghanistan.

As the sun completed its descent behind the horizon, Dale had to continually remain on the alert for any changes in the Miata's route. He knew roughly what course Donna might take to arrive at her home address; she would most likely continue east until she turned north on Kennedy Road or Midland Avenue. From there, she'd proceed parallel to the 401 on Sheppard Avenue, due east again. His research had told him Donna lived in a modernized, brick Edwardian-style home that was probably built back in the 1920s.

His guess panned out, as the Miata signalled, and turned onto Midland. Dale followed suit and made the turn, glad that there were still four cars between him and his target.

Dale passed a number of Chinese and other ethnic restaurants and businesses along the way, a testament to the growing immigrant demographic of the neighbourhood.

He felt as if his blood was boiling with excitement and anticipation. _Maybe when I'm done, I'll stop for some dim sum at that 24-hour place,_ he thought gleefully,_ this chase is working up an appetite!_

The Mazda eventually turned onto a dark, quiet street with rows of houses in the Edwardian style. Dale drove right past, taking note of where the other car had stopped. He couldn't actually see into the little sports car; the sky was moonless, and night was fully upon them.

He parked his Dodge at the end of the street, and sat for a few moments to still his nerves.

"She's home," Dale said, when he'd called Elena one more time. He received the reply that he was to proceed as planned. Dale got out of his vehicle, and approached on foot the house he'd determined to be Constable Sabine's. He checked his sidearm.

Yes, his Glock was loaded and ready.

Dale moved with casual ease towards Donna's driveway. He hadn't yet seen her emerge, and he momentarily wondered why she was still sitting in the darkness of the car. The nearest streetlight offered little illumination, and he could barely make out a silhouette inside the Miata.

Too late, he realised it was too large and too masculine a silhouette to be that of Donna Sabine. Dale spun around quickly to retrace his steps, and found himself suddenly blinded by a light mounted to a pistol, which was being held by Team Three Sergeant, Nate Hanson.

Dale's hand instinctively flew to his own weapon, but Nate eased his gun closer to his foe until it was almost touching his forehead.

"Uh, uh," Nate said warningly, "drop it! Now!"

Defeated, Dale un-holstered his weapon and let it drop to the pavement where it clattered noisily. Nate took the further precaution of kicking it far out of reach, and 'suggested' Dale place his hands on his head.

The door to the Miata opened while Draper complied with Sergeant Hanson's order. Out of the sports car stepped another Team Three constable, Bobby Drake. Dale looked at him in disbelief, letting his fury at the situation flash across his face.

"_Not_ what you were expecting, was it, jackass?" Nate mocked, with a mirthless smile.

Dale just glared at the other man, but offered no reply. Inside, he was seething. _I've been following that guy the whole time?! Where the hell is Donna, then?_

"All tongue-tied, huh?" Nate asked. "Well, allow me to do some talking. Maybe that'll loosen you up a little... Does the name 'Luis Marquez' ring a bell? Hmm?"

Dale Draper remained silent. He took a surreptitious look around, and found that out in the darkness, he could see several pinpoints of light shining back at him that had a slightly greenish glare to them. _Night-vision_, he thought, _they've got me surrounded. Damn._

"Luis Marquez?" Nate repeated, when he got no response. "No hits in the old memory bank? Well, it should sound familiar, because Luis sure seems to know _you_."

If Dale was surprised at this, his face did not betray it.

"See," Sergeant Hanson said, while he kept his weapon trained on Dale, "just before he went into surgery this evening, Luis had a little confession to make. Seems he was pretty spooked he mightn't survive the procedure, and he did some serious soul-searching. He told the police officer guarding him that _you_ were feeding his boss information. Can you imagine?"

Again, Dale said nothing to either confirm or refute these accusations.

"Now tell me, Draper, how does this guy get _your _name? He sure didn't pull it out of his ass; he's sort of missing a hand."

At this, Dale's illuminated face twitched a little, and Nate picked up on the subtle change.

"Oh, you didn't hear?" Nate said. "Luis Marquez got his hand shot off this afternoon. Yeah! Team One caught him trying to blow up a few of their members, including that kidnapped constable, Julianna Callaghan. But of course, you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Dale simply glowered. _Stupid Marquez! Couldn't keep his bloody mouth shut! He'd better hope he _doesn't _wake up from that anesthesia, because if Elena doesn't have him killed by someone else, _I'll gladly do it!

"Just what was it you thought you were doing, coming to Constable Sabine's home, uninvited, huh, Draper? We know you asked for the SRU roster today – the civilian staffer remembers you quite clearly. What's a Vice unit officer like yourself needing information like that for, if not to pass on to someone else?"

"What you've got is circumstantial, as well as the ramblings of a gang member in so much pain, he'd be ready to rat out his own mother if he thought it would help him score some points with prosecutors," Dale finally spoke.

"Who said Luis Marquez was a gang member? I sure didn't...did you, Constable Drake?" Nate called out to his colleague.

"Can't say I did," Bobby Drake called back from Donna's driveway.

Too late, Dale realised his error. He had just unwittingly admitted that he knew Luis Marquez, and his gang affiliation.

"I want a lawyer and my union rep. Now!" he demanded, knowing he was in serious trouble.

"Sure, Draper, but here's the thing," Nate said, "Luis mentioned that his boss is awfully pissed at one particular member of my team. You're going to call Luis' boss, and tell her that whatever you both had planned has gone just as smooth as smooth can be. Cooperate with us, and prosecution is willing to look at a reduced sentence for you in a minimum security prison."

The wheels in Dale's head started turning.

"If I were you, I'd take it," Constable Bobby Drake prompted, "as much as I hate the idea that if you do, a filthy turncoat like you isn't going to have the book thrown at him."

Nate Hanson used his free hand to pull Dale's cell phone from its clip. "Call her," he demanded. "Now."

Dale scowled, but grabbed the phone nevertheless, and dialled the number to reach Elena Moreno.

"Good choice, Draper," Sergeant Hanson said, and waited while Dale convinced Elena that all was going according to plan.

* * *

There was a stiff, cool breeze blowing in off Lake Ontario.

Dale Draper was standing near the edge atop the Scarborough Bluffs in the darkness, wondering if it would be better if he just hurled himself off. It was about a sixty-five meter drop at this point...

But no. Nate Hanson was watching him through his night vision sights like a hawk, and suicide would be a coward's way out. So while Dale knew he was marked for life as a traitor, he didn't want to be further remembered as a coward. That would be the ultimate shame.

He understood Elena Moreno had chosen this rendezvous point because she figured it would be remote enough so as to avoid detection. Indeed, this part of the Bluffs was more than a little off the beaten path.

"You'd better not have been messing with us," Nate said to Dale. "If you're lying about meeting with Elena Moreno here, prosecution is _not _going to be happy."

"I'm not lying," Dale responded testily. "She'll be here. She thinks she's going to finally be able to come face to face with the person who killed Oscar Cardoza. She's not going to pass up this opportunity."

Nate grunted a dubious reply. "Well, for your sake, you'd better be right."

The Team Three sergeant's communication device chirped to life: "Boss, there's some folks approaching on foot...Four of them..."

"Good," Nate replied. "Everyone in position?"

He received several responses in the affirmative, then he swiftly moved to a large, nearby boulder he'd previously picked out to conceal himself. As always, he hoped that they'd be able to get through the impending confrontation without any bloodshed. Somehow this time around, Nate had a feeling that with the additional help he'd requested, things would end in their favour.

A beam of light bobbed along a sandy path. Dale Draper turned, and switched on a flashlight of his own, ears tuned to the sound of footsteps approaching.

"Elena?" he called out softly, pointing his beam in the direction of the other light.

"Who else would it be?" an accented female voice responded, cold as ice.

In the pale, yellowish glow of his flashlight, Dale saw four faces. They belonged to Elena Moreno, Reynaldo Villalobos, and Enrique, still sporting a bandaged nose. The fourth face Dale knew belonged to the voice on the video sent to the CJYT news desk. Dale hadn't formally met this man, and didn't know his name.

"Where is she?" Elena asked, casting several glances around as she shined her light along the edge of the cliff. "Where is Donna Sabine?"

"She's not here..." Dale sighed.

"_What?!_" Elena shrieked. She immediately pulled out a gun and pointed it at Dale's chest. "You have five seconds to tell me where she is, or it will be _your_ body we toss over these cliffs instead of hers!"

Dale raised his hands slowly, and shut his eyes. Even though he knew he didn't deserve it, he prayed that the SRU constables would do their job and take down Elena and her cronies.

He didn't have to wait long.

"SRU! Drop your weapon!" Bobby Drake came barreling out from behind a tree, catching Elena off-guard.

"Do not move! Do not move!" Constable Kevin Wordsworth screamed, rushing in to cover the three other gang members, with the help of Spike Scarlatti and Lewis Young. The thugs surrendered in surprise and confusion, dropping to their knees, as four members of Team Three also came out of hiding to provide further cover.

Elena, however, remained defiant. Constable Drake stared her down through the sights of his MP5. "Put it down," he ordered, noting she had not flinched one iota, and was still pointing her weapon at Dale Draper.

Sergeant Hanson stepped out from behind the boulder and approached Elena quietly.

"It's over, Elena," he said gently. "Luis Marquez gave you up. We know you had him build those explosive devices, and we know you had Constable Callaghan kidnapped. He told us Dale's been passing information to you, too."

"_Luis_..." Elena spoke his name as if she'd just eaten something particularly vile and distasteful.

"Put down the gun, please, Elena," Nate commanded. "Killing Dale will only make things worse for you."

He could see her wavering slightly. _Please, please put it down,_ he begged silently.

A tremor passed through her body, and Elena let her weapon slip from her hand. Bobby Drake took the opportunity and pounced on her, restraining her as she yelled curses and flailed about in his arms.

"You're all dead!" she screamed. "You won't keep me in prison long. You have nothing! You have nothing!"

"Shut up," Bobby said evenly, handcuffing her securely.

At this, Dale Draper put his hands down in utter relief, and did not protest when Nate cuffed him, too.

But Elena was not finished her diatribe. "Mark my words: Donna Sabine _will_ pay for what she did to Oscar. You will _all_ pay for this!"

"Uttering threats is _not_ a good idea when you're this deep in trouble and with so many reliable witnesses around," Bobby Drake piped up. "What was a scumbag like Oscar Cardoza to you, anyway?"

"_Oscar was my brother!_" Elena bellowed in a loud, furious and emotional cry that sent shivers down the spines of all those present.

* * *

**To be concluded next chapter...**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Here it is: the concluding chapter. Mainly wrapping things up; Sam/Jules if you read between the lines.**

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* * *

  
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**SCARBOROUGH BLUFFS – _Team One Tactical Truck_**

Sergeant Greg Parker stood just outside his mobile command post, watching as the SRU constables marched the arrested members of _Heusos de Tigres_ off to waiting squad cars.

He saw Nate Hanson leading the disgraced Dale Draper by himself. Greg felt a mix of loathing and disgust at the sight of the traitor. Draper's forced cooperation tonight did little to redeem him in Gerg's eyes. Still, the Team One sergeant was grateful that they'd been able to get the victory here tonight, and avert further disaster.

"Watch your head," Sergeant Hanson said to Dale, as he directed him into a seating position in one of the cars.

"Hey," Dale said in a tired voice that spoke to his mental and emotional state of mind, "I just gotta know: where _is_ Donna Sabine?"

_Wouldn't you like to know!_ Nate thought. "That's none of your business, Draper," he replied curtly, then added: "she's _safe. _And that's all you need to know."

_Safe, huh?_ Dale thought. _For now. But I bet she has no idea how close she came to buying it tonight... Well, w__hen I get out, there won't be any safe place left for her, and that's a promise._

Nate Hanson gave the other man one last scornful glance, then slammed the door shut with more force than was necessary, but felt good to do so, nevertheless.

* * *

**ST. PATRICK'S MEMORIAL HOSPITAL_ - General Ward._**

Donna Sabine approached the admittance desk with Colin Larson in tow. The nurse on duty looked up suddenly. "Can I help you?" she asked them.

"Yes, we're looking for Julianna Callaghan's room - 'Angela'," Donna said, reading the name tag pinned to the nurse's scrubs. "We're colleagues."

Nurse Angela looked at her watch."Visiting hours are just about over, and the patients need their rest," she said ruefully.

Donna was about to reach for her badge and I.D., when Angela amended her reply. "Well, okay...but you have five minutes; no more. She's in room 119."

"Thanks," Donna said with a grateful smile, and she and constable Larson continued down the hall to Jules' room.

They paused at 119, and Donna knocked twice. "Jules?" she called out softly.

"Come in," came a muffled and tired-sounding reply.

"You go ahead," constable Larson encouraged Donna, "I'll wait outside."

Donna opened the door, and meekly entered the room. She wasn't sure Jules would appreciate a visit, especially from her. But it was something she felt she had to do.

Jules was lying in bed, nose neatly bandaged. One side of her face sported an awful, purple-coloured bruise, plainly visible even in the dimmed lights of the room.

_Oh, God,_ Donna thought guiltily. _She sure took a beating, all in my stead._ _I hope she'll be able to forgive me._

"Hi, Jules," she said tentatively.

"Oh, Donna, it's you," Jules said in recognition. "I thought it was another nurse coming to check my blood pressure, or my temperature or my pulse or God knows what else!" She'd also been half expecting to see some of her team members, and idly wondered what could be delaying them.

Donna's mouth quirked as she swallowed a chuckle. "No, it's just me... Um, I heard you hate plants, so I've brought you something I hope you'll enjoy a little more..."

Jules propped herself up a little higher, and watched as Donna rummaged through the shoulder bag she'd brought with her. She withdrew a brown paper bag with a familiar logo printed on it, and a large, insulated coffee urn.

"I can't smell it, but is that what I think it is?" Jules asked hopefully.

"Coffee from Timmie's," Donna declared, unscrewing the urn and pouring some of the steaming liquid into the cap, "_and _an onion bagel with herb and garlic cream cheese. I heard it's your favourite."

"Oh, _thank you_," Jules said rapturously, eagerly accepting the drink and bagel. "I've been so hungry! But you know, I've had enough hospital food to last me a lifetime. I just couldn't stand the sight of it tonight, and the cafeteria's already closed."

Donna nodded knowingly. "Hospital _coffee_ tastes like sewage, and hospital _food_, well... the jury's out on that one. I just couldn't imagine having to eat it every day for as long as you had to."

Jules was unable to reply as she hungrily bit into the bagel, filling her mouth with the savoury goodness it offered. In a few short minutes she'd made quick work of it, and had nearly polished off the contents of the coffee urn.

"Wow," she sighed contentedly, after she'd finished the last morsel. "Even with my sense of smell as messed up as it is, a bagel has never tasted so good! Thanks, Donna. That really hit the spot."

"Consider it a peace offering, or an apology, if you prefer," Donna said seriously.

She stopped momentarily, unsure where she should go with this. If there was one thing she feared more than getting killed on the job, it was that her actions might get one of her fellow officers killed. That type of failure was something she prayed she'd never experience, and she'd come dangerously close to it today.

"Jules, _I'm sorry_. All of this – everything that happened to you today – was my fault. I... I don't know what else to say... but if it hadn't been for my actions, you wouldn't be here."

"Donna," Jules started, taken aback by the other woman's distress.

"It's true," Donna continued, "Elena Moreno was looking for _me_. I'm the one she wanted to kill."

"I know," Jules said. "But, Donna, think about it: if they'd found you first, she would have killed you. When Elena first thought I was the one who killed Oscar, I could _see it in her eyes _that she wanted me dead. She only let me live after discovering it wasn't me because she knew she could use me as a pawn."

Donna hung her head and stood motionless by the foot of Jules' bed, trying to hold in the emotions she'd been trying to keep bottled up.

"Don't you see?" Jules said, realising Donna was unconvinced, "I'm _glad_ I'm the one they grabbed, because it means we're _both_ alive now. If it was you, we'd still be looking for your body. So you can stop beating yourself up over it, really. As you can see, it takes a lot more than a broken nose and a cracked skull to get rid of me. A _lot_ more!"

In spite of herself, Donna broke into a grin. "You're amazing, you know that?" she said with admiration.

"I hear you're not so bad, yourself," Jules said kindly. "I mean, Ed just raves about you, so maybe I still ought to watch my back around here! Never know when some ex-Vice constable with mad skills is gonna show up to take my place again while I'm laid up in a hospital bed."

Both women shared a good laugh over this, which constable Larson managed to hear through the door.

Noting that she'd overstayed the five minutes she'd promised the admittance nurse, and knowing that Jules really needed rest, Donna took her leave. She closed the door quietly behind her while Jules settled into bed, stomach full, and friendship secured.

* * *

**SRU HEADQUARTERS – _Debrief Room_**

Five members of Team One and five members of Team Three sat together around the conference table in an unprecedented joint debriefing.

Both Sergeants Greg Parker and Nate Hanson shared the duty of leading, as they re-iterated the day's two major incidents.

At the conclusion, Nate Hanson stood and looked around the room. "I just wanted to thank all of you from Team One for agreeing to be a part of our op," he said sincerely.

"You couldn't have kept us away," Greg replied heartily, "we wanted to nail them just as badly as you did."

Indeed, when the decision was made to entrap Dale Draper, both teams were each short two members. Team One was without Jules Callaghan due to her hospitalization, and Sam Braddock was detained due to his SIU review. Nate Hanson felt that having constable Sabine suit up would have been an unnecessary risk, and Colin Larson elected to sit out in order to be her watchdog.

"It was a job well done, everybody," Nate praised the officers, "thanks again."

Greg shook hands with the other team sergeant and said, "We should do that again sometime!"

With that, the men began to file out of the room.

Ed Lane and Greg Parker remained for a few minutes. It seemed to be a habit of the Team One sergeant and the team leader to have their own informal debrief when everything 'official' was out of the way.

Greg leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and let go a long, satisfied sigh. Ed grinned at the sight, and then grew serious.

"Sarge..." he started, "I know I was pulling for Donna to remain with us, but knowing what we know now about Elena Moreno's vendetta, if she'd stayed with us, she'd probably be dead right now."

Greg opened his eyes and arched his eyebrows. He sat forward and rested his chin on his interlocked fingers. "That's a tough call, Eddie," he replied after a pause, "but there were a lot of things that could have gone wrong. That rat, Draper, could have been a whole lot more specific in what he passed on to Elena from the start. The gang members only acted on his vague notion that a female SRU constable had killed Cardoza. They couldn't have known that we have _two_ on different teams. In a way, I guess we were really lucky that Elena was bent on taking revenge on all of us, because she took a lot of risks to accomplish what she wanted to."

"Yeah, 'lucky'," Ed repeated grimly. "It's like Wordy said this afternoon: when's it going to end? How many times are we going to have to fight off scum looking for payback?"

"As many times as we have to, my friend," Greg answered. "These are the risks that come with the job. Every time we suit up, we're putting our lives on the line in order to _save_ lives. Today, it just so happened that we saved the life of one of our own."

"And what about tomorrow?" Ed asked.

"Tomorrow, we do it all over again," Greg answered decisively.

Ed nodded. "You're right... See you tomorrow, then, Greg, where we get to do this all over again."

"You bet, Eddie," Greg said, "keeping the peace."

* * *

**ST. PATRICK'S MEMORIAL HOSPITAL -**_**Room 119**_

It was almost midnight when Sam Braddock stole into Room 119, his meeting with SIU finally complete. He could hear even, but stuffy breaths coming from the petite bundle lying asleep in the hospital bed.

He came nearer, with the silence of a soft breeze. In the gentle glow of a night light, he could make out Jules' features, however disfigured by her earlier ordeal. He frowned at the sight of her bandaged nose and bruised cheek.

Her lips were slightly parted, and Sam saw her chest rise and fall rhythmically as she inhaled and exhaled. It was a sound he found especially comforting, even now, when he knew she was completely out of danger. He'd spent so many hours here, in this hospital; so many clandestine visits so as not to alert the others on the team that they were secret lovers... he remembered how he felt he'd go mad with grief and uncertainty after Jules had been shot. He remembered, too, his joy when he knew she would pull through.

_I wish you'd given _us_ a chance, Jules,_ Sam thought sadly. _We almost lost you again today, and I don't think I would have been able to handle it if we hadn't reached you in time._

Sam looked at her face again, and felt tempted to bend down and kiss her. Instead, he reached over and placed his hand over one of hers, and let it linger there for a few moments.

As he pulled away, she shifted slightly in her sleep. His heart leaped a little, stirring deep emotions within him.

"Goodnight, Jules," he whispered, and started to tip-toe away.

"Don't go," a wan, half-asleep voice called out to him.

Sam turned. Her eyes were still closed.

_Sleep-talking_, he thought. He moved to leave the room again.

"Sam?" her voice was a little clearer this time.

"Jules," Sam replied, keeping his own tone low, looking at her over his shoulder. As best as he could make out, she was still talking in her sleep.

"Stay."

"You want me to stay?" Sam asked.

"Mm-hmm," Jules mumbled, nodding her head.

"Okay," Sam murmured, and sat down in a chair next to her bed, and remained there the rest of the night, keeping his team mate company.

* * *

**END**


End file.
